GIFT  OF 
J.ts.    Peizotto 


,?  V'' 


da  J/,  /^7o.  , 


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FRIDAY  NIGHT. 


J   ,  J  •>     i  i 


A  SELECTION  OF  TALES 


ILLUSTEATING     HEBEEW   LIFE 


NEW    YORK; 

OFFICE  OF  *«  THE  JEWISH  MESSENGER,"  243  BROADWAY. 

1870-6630. 


■•.:;••::•:•..••::..:••••••• 


ioM-  ^  a./3^  fA.ey:CjZtd' 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  18T0,  by 

ISAAC  S.  ISAACS. 

In  the  Clerk's  offico  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States  for  the  Soutbci-n 

District  of  New  York. 


ELtCTROTYPED    AND    PRINTED 

BY  J.  DAVIS, 

•33  BROADWAY,  M.  Y. 


PREFACE. 


This  little  book  is  published  in  deference  to  a  sugges- 
tion often  made  to  the  editors,  that  a  collection  of  sketches 
from  Jewish  life,  recounting  the  peculiar  traditions,  cus- 
toms and  modes  of  thought  of  the  Hebrews,  would  be 
acceptable  to  the  public. 

The  generation  which  is  faithfully  represented  in  such 
stories  as  the  "  Schlemiel "  is  passing  away,  and  there  is 
mingled  with  the  interest  attaching  to  it,  at  least  the  sad- 
dening reflection  that  its  best  side  has  been  almost  stu- 
diously concealed.  The  beauties  of  domestic  life,  of  pure, 
sincere,  family  affection — the  sublimities  of  uncomplain- 
ing patience  amid  sorrow,  affliction  and  persecution — 
the  noble  examples  of  fortitude,  brotherly-love  and  gen- 
erous self-sacrifice — the  lofty  manifestations  of  a  faith 
surpassing  human  knowledge — which  the  Ghetto  has 
disclosed  within  the  memory  of  thousands  who  now 
breathe  the  inspiriting  atrnosphere  of  American  fi-eedom: 
— who  has  preserved  these  so  as  to  strengthen  in  the 
minds  and  hearts  of  their  descendants  the  waning  res- 
pect and  reverence  for  a  down-trodden  ancestry? 

869034 


IV  PEEFACE. 

The  history  of  the  inner  life  of  the  Hebrews,  excluded 
from  the  political  equality  which,  at  the  downfall  of  feu- 
dalism, gradually  and  sm*ely  advanced  throughout  Eu- 
rope, is  yet  to  be  written.  The  glimpses  we  have  of  their 
wonderful  courage  and  faith,  of  their  singular  intellectual 
energy,  create  an  eagerness  to  become  acquainted  with 
their  true  story. 

Perhaps  these  Httle  sketches,  rescued  from  the  fleeting 
pages  of  the  newspaper,  embodying  the  lighter,  and  oc- 
casionally the  more  sober,  view  of  Jewish  character,  as 
exemphfied  in  the  generation  now  hving  in  memory, 
may  interest  as  well  as  amuse,  and  may  stimulate  the 
prevalent  desire  to  learn  "  something  more." 

The  editors  are  encouraged  by  the  kindness  and  for- 
bearance which  they  have  ever  experienced,  to  ask  a  fa- 
vorable reception  for  this  pioneer  volume  of  a  series 
of  works  illustrative  of  Jewi&h  life. 


%*  These  stories  were  originally  published  in  "  The  Jewish 
Messengeb."  "Anschel,  the  Schleroiel,"  was  translated  from  the 
French  by  Prof.  Solomon  Woolf,  of  the  College  of  New  York, — 
the  same  gentleman  adapting  from  a  German  legend  the  poem 
**  Unable  to  Die. "  *'  A  Tale  of  the  Inquisition  "  ih  from  the  "  Mat- 
inees du  Samedi,"  (translated  by  "Mr.  B.  Lemann) ;  "  The  Tephillin  " 
is  from  the  German  of  The  Sippurim,  (translated  by  ]^Ir.  A.  L. 
Sanger),  ' '  The  Eabbi's  Daughter  "  is  based  upon  a  story  published 
in  the  I$raelU  of  Mayence. 


CONTENTS. 


ANSCHEL,  THE  SCHLEMIEL, 9 

THE  SABBATH  EVE,          -------  43 

ATALE  OF  THE  INQUISITION, 57 

EACHEL'S  SLEIGH  BIDE, 69 

UNABLE  TO  DIE, 81 

THE  TEPHILIN, -        -        -  91 

THE  EABBI'S  DAUGHTEB, 119 


AISCHEL,  THE  SCHLEMIEL. 


AISCHEL,  THE  SCHLEMIEL, 


I,— DAWN. 

Out  of  a  hundred  persons  whom  you  should  interro- 
gate concerning  the  true  signification  of  the  word  Schle- 
rniel,  without  question  ninety-nine  would  confess,  whilst 
most  pohtely  raising  their  hats,  then-  entire  ignorance  of 
it  ;  but  the  hundredth  individual,  who  alone  would  be 
competent  to  afford  you  the  necessary  information,  is  no 
more  nor  less  than  your  very  humble  servant.  Now,  al- 
though he  cannot  but  acknowledge  the  rather  self-satisfied 
tone  of  this  remark,  still,  he  is  wilhng  to  submit  to  what- 
ever reflections  his  assurance  may  induce,  for  the  simple 
and  sufficient  reason  that  no  one  else  could  be  found  at 
all  wilhng  to  assume  the  explanation  in  question. 

Should  a  poor  devil  be  remarked  for  his  duUness  or 
awkwardness  ?  Of  such  a  person  they  are  wont  to  say  in 
the  ghetto  :  "  He  is-  a  Schlemiel !  "  The  Schlemiel  always 
manages  to  let  his  bread  fall  on  the  buttered  side  ;  if 
others  seize  a  favorable  opportunity  by  the  head,  it  is  a 
matter  of  doubt  whether  the  Schlemiel  would  be  success- 
ful in  catching  it  by  the  heel,  and,  even  then,  he  would 
only  allow  it  to  escape.  He  meditates  weU,  only  what  he 
badly  performs  ;  he  performs  weU,  only  what  he  badly 
meditates  ;  an  adverse  genius  dogs  his  steps  ;  vulgarly 
speaking,  he  gets  up,  during  his  entire  hfe,  with  his  left 
foot  foremost.  As  to  any  luck,  he  never  gets  more  than 
a  view  of  that  part  of  it,  which  a  general  of  an  army  loves 
to  see  of  his  enemy.  Place  gold  in  the  hand  of  a  Schle- 
miel, and  the  people  of  the  ghetto  solemnly  forewarn  you 


10  ANSCHEL,    THE   SCHLEMIEL. 

,  ,\t  -vyill  turn  into  br^ss  ;  let  him  only  retain  tliis  brass,  and, 
•t\'itli  an  GVii3.'a;i  Geribiisness,  they  wil  assure  you  it  "vvill  me- 
tamoii^liose  itiself  into  common  lead  ;  and,  let  us  add, 
I  tl|sit:\^tb  titif<  lead,  it  were  impossible  to  mould  a  bullet 
« •  ^bbd'enoagii- 1©:  blwv  one's  brains  out  with.  From  this 
it  is  to  be  recognized  how  unfortunate  he  is  who  is  born 
a  SclilemieL  Nay,  his  lot  exceeds  misfortune — ^it  is  a 
fatum. 

I  demanded  of  myself  whether  it  were  not  an  under- 
taking, betokening  temerity,  to  desire  to  describe  vl  fatum  of 
this  nature,  and  I  dehberated  with  myself  for  some  time 
as  to  its  advisability  ;  for,  it  might  readily  hajDpen  that, 
while  playing  with  such  an  edged  tool,  it  might  turn  against 
the  historian  himself,  in  such  wise  that,  after  having  has- 
tened the  perusal  of  this  veritable  story  to  its  last  line, 
more  than  one  of  its  readers  would  be  constrained  to  ex- 
claim :  "  Here  is  a  fellow  who  has  composed  the  history 
of  a  Sclilemiel,  and  he  is  a  Schlemiel  himself." 

"Well,  be  it  so !  the  Schlemiel  so  depicted,  and  the  artist 
who  Hmns  him,  shall  together  be  handed  down  to  the 
same  immortahty  ;  for  this  fact  is  beyond  peradventure, 
that  ScMemielery  is  immortal,  and  the  last  man  who,  some 
day  hereafter,  shall  quit  this  mundane  sj^here  of  ours, 
shall  also,  undoubtedly,  be  the  last  Schlemiel. 

One  day,  the  inhabitants  of  the  ghetto  had  waited  im- 
patiently for  sometime  to  hear  the  three  well-knoA^Ti  blows 
of  the  wooden  hammer,  which  the  Shamas*  rapped  against 
each  door,  in  order  to  announce  that  it  was  time  to  repair 
to  the  s}Tiagogue.  His  unwonted  delay  was  occasioned 
by  a  death  in  the  street,  and  those  of  the  pious  who,  with- 
out awaiting  the  Shamas'  summons,  had,  nevertheless, 
repaired  towards  the  synagogue,  learned  that  during  the 
night  Kebb  Isserl  Gloser  had  suddenly  expired  of  apop- 
lexy; upon  the  hearing  of  which,  the  greater  number  of 
the  loiterers  devoutly  ejaculating : ''  Boruch  Dayan  Eme>i"-\ 
contented  themselves  with  this  expression  of  resignation, 
and  continued  on  theii-  several  ways,  for  the  morning  was 
chill,  and  icicles  hung  on  the  oaves. 

Below,  standing  before  the  large  two-storied  house, 

*  Sexton.  t  Praised  be  the  trne  Judge. 


ANSCHEL,    THE   SCHLEMIEL.  11 

adjoining  the  butclier's  shop,  two  men  were  to  be  seen, 
at  an  early  hour,  each  with  his  taleth"^  under  his  arm,  en- 
gaged in  a  long  and  animated  conversation.  One  of  the 
two,  still  youthful  in  appearance,  replete  with  cunning, 
and  gifted  with  a  pair  of  keen,  glowing  and  knavish-look- 
ing eyes,  contemplated  for  a  long  time  the  windows  of  the 
apartment  wherein  lay  the  body  of  the  dead  man  ;  then 
he  began  : 

"  Bah !  Tell  me,  Koppel,  how  much  time  do  you  still 
grant  him?" 

"  Whom  ?  "  demanded  the  other.  "  Do  you  mean  the 
Kebb  Isserl  Gloser?  He  has  been  dead  but  two  hours." 

"  Ninny !  "  rephed  the  first,  "  am  I  an  ass  that  I  know 
not  what  I  say  ?  Have.  I  lost  my  wits  ?  I  am  speaking 
of  Eebb  Isserl's  son — of  Schlemiel." 

"  By  the  prophet's  rod,"  protested  Koppell,  "  may  I  die 
if  I  understand  you  ;  what  do  you  wish  to  tell  me  con- 
cerning Schlemiel?" 

"  Heed  well  my  words,"  rephed  he  of  the  shrewd  fea- 
tures, whose  eyes  at  this  moment  were  lighted  up  by  a 
singular  expression,  "  heed  well  my  words  ;  but,  before- 
hand, truly  inform  me  if  it  has  ever  been  suspected  by 
you  that  Schlome  Katz  has  hed  ;  that  he  is  a  braggart, 
or  is  given  to  impose  upon  people  ?  " 

To  this  question,  Koppell,  whose  eyes  twinkled,  offered 
no  answer  ;  he  simply  held  his  peace. 

"  Listen,  then,"  pursued  our  cunning  rogue,  "  and  heed 
my  words  :  before  ten  years  have  elapsed,  you  shall  have 
the  pleasure  of  beholding,  at  the  windows  of  that  very 
room,  where  Rebb  Isserl  Gloser  is  now  stretched,  a  cer- 
tain honorable  individual,  royally  enveloped  in  a  rich  and 
luxurious  morning-gown,  hke  the  administrator  of  our 
commune  ;  you  shall,  hkewise,  behold  that  aforesaid  in- 
dividual quietly  smoking  from  a  massive  pipe,  inlaid  with 
silver,  and,  finally,  that  respected  individual  shall  be 
known  as  Schlome  Katz !" 

"  Are  you  mad,  Schlome  ?  "  exclaimed  Koppel,  shout- 
ing with  merriment. 

"  Laugh  to  your  heart's  content,"  responded  the  other, 
"treat  me,  if  you  will,  as  a  do?  -^d  har  ;  say  that  I  am 

*  Bol)e  worn  in  Synagogue. 


12  ANSCHEL,    THE   SCHLEMIEL. 

a  fool  who  does  not  merit  being  spit  at  Only  recoUect 
this  :  through  that  door  shall  I  enter,  out  of  that  door 
shall  I  drive  the  Schlemiel,  and,  only  afterwards,  shall  I 
don  my  morning-gown.  Ten  years  hence,  you  may  either 
chance  or  wish  to  pass  by  here,  and  then  I  shaU  recall  my 
prophecy  and  apostrophize  you  thus  :  '  Koppel,  what  did 
I  once  say  unto  you  ?     Is  this  house  mine,  yes  or  no  ?' " 

Schlome  had  spoken  with  some  degree  of  animation. 
After  having  heard  him  to  the  end,  Koppel  gazed  atten- 
tively into  his  eyes,  and  thus  naively  addressed  him  : 

"  By  the  prophet's  beard,  Schlome,  I  do  beheve  it  is  or- 
dained you  shaU  succeed  in  all  your  undertakings.  Not 
in  vain  were  you  named  Schlome  Katz  ;  like  a  cat,  you 
have  watched  for  Rebb  Isserl  Gloser's  death,  and  here 
you  are  now,  quite  prepared  to  spring  upon  poor  Schle- 
miel. Spring,  if  you  will,  my  dear  Schlome,  but  take  my 
word  for  it,  with  no  such  springs  will  you  fall  before  the 
gates  of  Paradise." 

"  He  is  a  Schlemiel!  "  Schlome  sharply  and  curtly  re- 
pHed ;  then  he  departed,  threading  his  way  through  a 
narrow  adjoining  by-street.  Koppel,  on  his  side,  went 
about  on  his  way. 

This  was  one  of  those  conversations  which  affect  the 
welfare  and  prosperity  of  a  whole  lifetime  ;  impossible  to 
foresee  or  prevent ;  speculating  upon  dreadful  contingen- 
cies ;  meditated  and  nourished  in  private  ;  a  species  of 
mental  brigandage,  ruthlessly  operating  upon  and  re- 
morsely  destroying  a  futui'e.  The  reader  is,  no  doubt,  by 
this  time  aware,  that  we  are  standing  before  Schlemiel's 
house,  and  we  can  only  regret  that  not  a  sound  of  these 
words  has  reached  his  ears  ;  siace  they  would  have  ben- 
efited him  far  more  than  if  his  father  had  bequeathed 
him  another  house,  and  thousands  of  florins  besides. 

Our  Schlemiel  belonged  to  that  class  of  creatures 
whom  one  meets  only  in  the  ghetto.  Anschel  was  his 
veritable  name,  but,  since  he  had  attaiued  his  thirteenth 
birthday,  the  people  of  the  ghetto  recognized  him  by  no 
other  title  than  SchlemieL  But  herein  is  the  reason. 
Anschel  had  just  reached  his  bar-mitzvah,  that  is  to  say, 
he  had  arrived  at  the  prescribed  legal  age  when,  accord- 
ing to  the  rabbins,  man  is  accounted  capable  of  support- 
ing the  burden  of  the  six  hundred  and  tlurteen  commaijd^ 


ANSCHEL,    THE   SCHLEMIEL.  13 

ments  of  God,  traditional  as  well  as  additional.  This 
day  of  initiation  into  manhood  is,  for  every  child,  a  pe- 
riod fraught  with  importance  ;  to  it  one  may  point  as  to 
a  landmark,  set  up  in  the  long  journey  through  life  ; 
around  which  cluster  memories  of  happiness  or  sorrow, 
weeds  or  pleasant  flowers  growing  by  the  wayside. 

And  so  was  our  Anschel  elated,  this  day,  with  all  his 
joys,  with  all  his  emotions.  It  was  the  Sabbath.  Anschel, 
in  accordance  with  the  custom,  was  obhged  to  read  be- 
fore the  assembled  congregation,  in  a  loud  and  intelligi- 
ble voice,  the  weekly  chapter  of  praj'-ers  from  the  Thora.* 
It  was  not,  as  might  be  surmised,  a  task  easily  accom- 
phshed  ;  nay,  many  a  professor,  profoundly  versed  in  the 
grammar  of  the  Hebrew  tongue,  would  have  sacrificed 
much  to  have  acquitted  himself  of  such  an  undertaking. 
In  the  first  place,  it  is  to  be  remarked  that  in  the  Thora 
the  words  are  not  punctuated  ;  still  further,  while  read- 
ing them,  it  is  necessary  to  accompany  their  utterance  by 
a  species  of  chant,  which  has  its  measure  and  notes  ac- 
curately and  definitely  determined  ;  an  error  is  only  too 
easily  committed,  particularly  before  an  audience,  who 
punish  more  vigorously  each  mistake  in  the  reader,  than 
a  false  note  by  a  pubhc  singer  would  be  condemned,  see- 
ing that  the  faithful  are  assembled,  their  prayer  books 
open  before  them,  the  text  accentuated  and  punctuated  ; 
consequently,  they  detect,  at  the  instant  of  its  commis- 
sion, any  blunder  in  the  reader.  These  are  but  a  few  of 
the  shoals  and  breakers  ahead. 

But  Anschel  himself  was  devoid  of  all  apprehension  ; 
so  confident,  indeed,  was  he  of  his  capabihty  and  prepar- 
ation that,  even  in  his  sleep,  he  could  not  be  deceived  in 
a  single  iota  of  it.  He  had  advanced,  his  heart  replete 
with  courage  and  determination,  as  the  officiating  minis- 
ter called  him  to  the  almemar,f  before  the  Thora.  Too 
small  to  reach  it,  he  had  bravely  mounted  the  stool, 
which  the  foresight  of  the  Shamas  had  placed  there  for 
him.  So  far  everything  had  passed  off  marvellously 
well  ;  a  rabbi  could  not  have  performed  it  better.  An- 
schel's  father,  Kebb  Isserl  Gloser,  had  already,  on  diverse 
occasions,  blown  bis  nose  in  token  of  his  satisfaction, 

*  Book  of  the  Law.  f  Reading  desk. 

2 


14  ANSCHEL,    THE   SCHLEMIEL. 

and  had  thus  allowed  his  emotion  to  be  observed. 
Above,  in  the  gallery,  allotted  to  the  women,  one  of  the 
f)articipants  in  the  ceremony  bent  so  lowly  over  her  book 
that  she  touched  it  with  her  face — perha^DS  to  conceal 
her  tears.  For  it  was  Anschel's  mother.  But,  at  the 
veiy  moment  when  everything  was  progressing  most 
favorably,  Anschel,  standing  above  and  behind  the  Thora, 
perceived  httle  Schlome,  his  elder  by  a  few  years,  whose 
fe-ther  had  just  administered  to  him  a  shai-p  thump  in 
the  ribs  to  recall  his  scattered  senses ;  for,  instead  of 
listening  to  and  attentively  following  the  reader,  he  had 
preferred  to  cast  his  wandering  eyes  upon  the  women's 
galleiy  above,  behind  the  railings  of  which  appeared 
many  a  pretty  head  and  shoulders.  This  circumstance 
so  vi\-idly  impressed  itself  upon  Anschel,  that  he  lost 
both  his  soul  and  body's  equilibrium  at  the  same  time, 
and  tumbled  quite  heavily  from  the  top  of  his  stooL 
And  then  it  was  all  over  v>ith  his  har-mitzvah. 

It  was  this  accident  which  produced  the  gi'eatest  influ- 
ence upon  the  hfe  of  our  friend.  In  fact,  when  Anschel, 
utterly  disconcerted  and  overcome,  was  withdrawing,  he 
heard  Schlome  Katz,  as  he  passed  before  him,  whisper 
in  his  ear  these  words,  while  accompanying  them  with  a 
hideous  grimace : 

"  WTiy  then  are  you  such  a  great  Schlemiel  ?  " 

Let  us  now  introduce  to  our  readers  this  self-same 
Schlome  Katz,  since  he  is  to  play  no  unimportant  part 
in  the  Hfe  of  oirr  AnscheL  Schlome,  to  begin  with,  was 
his  personal  enemy. 

His  enmity,  to  sj^eak  the  truth,  extended  back  to  the 
grandparents  of  the  two  young  people,  and  rested  upon 
a  very  sohd  basis,  neither  more  nor  less  than  a  house. 
The  fact  is,  the  house  which  was  the  property  of  Eebb 
Isserl,  had  formerly  belonged  to  the  Katz  family.  The 
grandfather  of  Schlome  had  turned  out  to  be  one  of 
those  cireless  and  indifferent  sort  of  men  who  preferred, 
the  hvelong  year,  to  enjoy  all  the  comforts  and  pleasures 
of  life,  rather  than  overburden  himself  with  any  work  ; 
furthermore,  he  had  displayed  so  great  a  fondness  for  gam- 
ing that,  in  a  short  time,  the  beautiful  two-storied  house 
disappeared,  a  prey  to  the  service  of  "  the  king  and  ace." 


ANSCHEL,    THE   SCHLEMIEL.  15 

In  the  ghetto,  it  was  reported  that  Anschel's  grand- 
father had  won  the  place  of  him ;  a  statement,  however, 
entirely  false,  the  truth  being  he  bad  purchased  it  at  a 
pitiably  mean  price.  Suffice  to  say,  the  Katz  family  could 
never  resign  itself  to  the  loss  of  that  dear  house,  where 
they  had  all  been  born  and  bred.  It  was  a  wound  which 
rankled  and  bled  unceasingly,  but  at  no  time  more  strong- 
ly than  on  the  Sabbath,  whenever  the  elder  Katz,  after 
having  enjoyed  his  customary  siesta,  beheld,  through  the 
windows  of  his  own  dwelling,  the  house  which  faced  him 
on  the  opposite  side  of  the  street.  Then,  giving  an  indo- 
lent yawn,  he  would  breathe  forth  a  profound  sigh,  and 
thus  address  his  better  half  :  "  By  my  faith,  it  strikes  me 
my  dead  father — rest  his  bones — acted  a  little  inconsid- 
erately and  precipitately  in  the  matter  of  that  house  :  it 
might  just  as  well  have  belonged  to  us  still,  whereby  I 
would  not  have  been  constrained  to  pay  this  never  end- 
ing rent.  Ah !  formerly,  people  were  but  too  wont  to 
take  httle  interest  in  the  welfare  of  their  descendants, 
and  my  poor  father,  to  have  obtained  his  good  cheer  on 
the  Sabbath,  would  not  have  hesitated  to  have  gotten  rid 
of  ten  houses  more  into  the  bargain."  Now,  it  will  be 
readily  understood  how  that,  hearing  these  selfsame 
words  repeated  fifty-two  times  in  the  course  of  the  year, 
Schlome  should  have  felt  them  infiltrated,  as  it  were,  in- 
to the  heart  like  so  many  drops  of  gall,  and  end  by  hav- 
ing them  petrified  therein  ?  Often  was  he  tutored  : 
"  Schlome,  when  you  grow  to  be  a  man,  it  will  become 
your  duty  to  endeavor  to  restore  that  house  to  its  right- 
ful owners  ;  for^  you  know,  our  neighbors  opposite  have 
robbed  us  of  it."  Thereupon,  he  would  face  it,  at  each 
successive  repetition,  with  a  vicious  grimace  which  seem- 
ed to  say  :  "  Oh !  only  let  me  once  become  a  man  and 
I'll  have  it  back  again,  you  may  be  sure." 

The  more  he  grew,  the  more  that  animosity  took  deep- 
er root  in  him  ;  it  became  the  settled  aim  and  thought 
of  his  life,  and  was  heightened  by  the  difference  in  the 
characters  of  the  two  young  people.  The  one  was  un- 
gainly, awkward  and  timid,  Schlome,  on  the  contrary, 
was  lively,  alert  and  quick  of  speech.  He  had  very  ear- 
ly XDcrsuaded  himself  that  it  was  his  right  and  duty  to 
make  Schleraiel  undergo  all  kmds  of  affronts,  without  in 


16  ANSCHEL,    THE  SCHLEMIEL. 

any  way  troubling  himself  as  to  the  results.  Besides,  it 
is  in  the  nature  of  men  of  Schlome's  stamp  to  find  un- 
sufferable  the  clumsiness  and  awkwardness  of  othera. 
They  are  not  accustomed  to  regard  these  defects  of  their 
neighbors  as  a  punishment  of  heaven,  but  as  a  species  of 
merchandize,  scattered  upon  the  highways  of  Hfe,  and  at 
the  sei-vice  of  the  first  comer. 

The  two  youths,  after  their  bar-mitzvah,  had  been  put 
to  business.  Schlome  immediately  set  about  afi'airs  in  a 
most  intelligent  manner,  and,  in  a  very  short  time,  he 
was  rewarded  for  his  assiduit}^  by  becoming  a  perfect  adept 
in  all  the  chicanery  and  rascahty  demanded  by  his  trade. 
Thus,  he  had  very  soon  excelled  in  holding  and  exhibiting 
to  the  best  advantage,  a  piece  of  old  stuff,  in  such  a  way 
that  one  was  quick  to  conclude  it  was  new ;  he  was  equal- 
ly conversant  with  the  method  adopted  in  displaying  a 
fi-ayed  silk,  so  as  to  conceal  its  blemishes  ;  and,  in  short, 
all  the  ti-icks  which  tradesmen  learn  after  a  due  appren- 
ticeshij),  but  which  seemed,  in  his  case,  to  be  constitu- 
tionally and  intuitively  his  o^ti.  He  was  a  source  of 
amusement  to  all  who  beheld  him,  when,  at  the  fail's, 
now  within,  anon  without,  his  booth,  he  cried  across  the 
market-place  his  lazinj,  lazinj,  kupte — here  you  are,  for 
sale  cheap — in  such  wise  as  to  make  the  purchasers  flock 
to  him  in  crowds. 

Then  was  he  to  be  seen  in  the  zenith  of  his  glory, 
pinching  the  ripe  cheeks  of  one  peasant  gii'l  ;  patting 
the  chubby  hands  of  another  ;  of  a  third  demanding, 
with  an  air  of  tender  sohcitude,  news  of  her  worthy  hus- 
band, Pan  Waczlaw,  or  her  httle  Honza.  It  must  be 
confessed,  however,  that  he  was  indifferently  acquainted 
Avith  the  existence  of  either,  albeit  this  trifling  considera- 
tion in  no  wise  prevented  him  expressing  his  fi-iendly 
anxiety.  By  this  mode  of  procedure,  Schlome  ordinarily 
attained  a  double  result ;  the  peasants  voluntarily  paid 
him  a  few  pence  more  than  to  others,  and,  on  the  other 
hand,  were  accustomed,  in  speaking  of  him,  to  observe  : 
"  Little  Schlome  is  a  clever  fellow  ;  he  will  turn  out  a 
bright  man." 

How  poorly,  in  business  capacity,  did  Anschel  com- 
pare mth  him.  His  lazinj  sounded  across  the  market- 
place in  so  weak  and  melancholy  a  tone,  and  in  so  hesi- 


ANSCHEL,  THE   SCHLEMIEL.  17 

tating  a  manner,  that  no  one  expressed  the  sHghtest  sur- 
prise at  his  inabihty  to  attract  customers.  And  yet  no 
one  could  question  the  goodness  or  sufficiency  of  his  in- 
tentions ;  on  the  contrary,  he  had  enough  and  to  spare  ; 
only,  as  it  often  happens  among  people  of  his  nature,  his 
good  intentions  walked  on  such  lofty  stilts  that  he  tum- 
bled the  more  heavily  each  instant.  Thus,  did  he  desire, 
emulating  the  example  of  Schlome,  to  pinch  the  ruddy 
cheeks  of  some  pretty  peasant  girl ;  he  pinched  them  so 
rudely  as  to  leave,  a  moment  after,  the  heavy  impress  of 
his  fingers  on  them  ;  or,  otherwise,  he  pinched  them  so 
Hghtly  she  did  not  feel  him  at  all,  and  that  was  just  as 
bad.  Did  he  strive  to  gain  a  mother's  good  will  ?  he  in- 
variably put  his  finger  in  her  baby's  eyes,  or  squeezed  it 
until  it  turned  black  in  the  face. 

Now  Schlome  accomphshed  everything  to  a  nicety, 
and  was  rewarded  by  the  good  wishes  and  praises  of 
every  one,  who  attributed  all  his  actions  to  his  naturally 
buoyant  and  effusive  nature.  Anschel,  on  his  side,  ren- 
dered himself  ridiculous  in  almost  everything  he  under- 
took. "  He  is  a  Schlemiel,"  said  Rebb  Isserl,  saddened 
and  discouraged  ;  his  mother  attempted  no  reply  ;  she 
thought  he  would  mend  his  ways.  But  as  he  failed  to 
improve,  Rebb  Isserl  reiterated  :  "He  is  a  Schlemiel, 
and  I  should  certainly  like  to  know  how  I  came  by  him." 
And  again  the  silent  mother  offered  no  reply.  Many 
years  after,  the  old  man  Isserl,  who,  at  the  best,  was  no 
gi-eat  talker,  undertook  to  affirm  :  "  I'll  wager  that  one 
day  he  will  be  the  ruin  of  our  house  ;  he  is  too  great  a 
Schlemiel !  "  The  silent  mother  did  more  than  not  res- 
pond ;  for  she  was  dead — and,  to  day,  there  is  another 
death  in  the  street.  Anschel  was  still  the  Schlemiel  we 
have  seen. 


2* 


18  ANSCHEL,    THE   SCHLEMIEL. 


IL—NOON. 


Not  a  person  in  tlie  ghetto  could  offer  an  explanation 
of  Anschel's  gestures  of  intense  despair  when,  on  the 
morrow,  they  laid  the  dead  man  in  his  tomb.  So  violent- 
ly did  he  tremble  in  every  hmb,  when  the  Shamas  ap- 
proached him,  in  order  to  cut  a  rent  in  his  gaiments, 
according  to  custom,  as  a  sign  of  mourning,  that  thei 
knife  pierced  his  hand  and  the  blood  spurted  fortli. 

Upon  beholding  him  in  the  state  we  have  described, 
those  who  had  taken  part  in  the  burial  service,  and  who 
were  wont  to  view  matters  only  as  they  appeared  super- 
ficially, began  to  question  each  other  :  "  Why  does  he 
lament  so  deeply  ?  Has  he  not  reached  his  manhood  ?  " 
Bat  there  are  things  which  he  too  deep  for  the  world  to 
see  or  to  know  ;  the  great,  silent  sorrows  of  the  heart, 
borne  wearily  to  the  grave. 

There  are  moments  when  even  natures  constitutional- 
ly unhappy  hke  Anschel's,  grow  to  recognize  their  own 
miseries.  He  had  felt,  in  that  great  moment  of  his  gi'ief, 
how  irreparable  had  been  his  loss  in  his  father's  death. 
Before  him  stood  revealed  all  his  past  life,  all  his  awk- 
wardness, all  his  clumsiness  ;  never  had  the  e^dl  star  of 
his  destiny  shone  -VNith  such  a  sinister  and  threatening 
aspect  It  seemed  to  him  that  the  time  had,  at  length, 
arrived  when  he  should  appear  in  his  true  character  of 
Schlemiel,  and  that  what  had  hitherto  been  himself  was 
about  to  be  buried  with  the  dead.  Suddenly,  on  raising 
his  eyes,  he  beheld  Schlome  Katz  beside  him,  who,  vdth 
a  terrible  activity,  was  throwing  into  the  gi'ave  handful 
after  handful  of  earth.  A  bitter  and  sombre  remem- 
brance of  youth  crossed  Anschel's  mind  ;  he  seemed  to 
be  once  more  reading  the  Thora  ;  he  saw  the  ovei-tumed 

stool and  then  he  thought  he  heard  the  hoarse  voice 

of  Schlome  Katz  crying  out  to  him  ;  "  Why  then  are 
you  so  great  a  Schlemiel  ?  "  This  is  why  he  irembled  in 
so  strange  a  manner,  when  the  Shamas  made  the  sht  in 
his  garment ;  it  seemed  to  him  that  the  knife  was  held 
by  Schlome  Katz  in  person. 


ANSCHEL,    THE   SCHLEMIEL.  19 

During  schiver,^  Anscliel  reflected  very  seriously  upon 
his  past,  and  debated,  poor  fellow,  with  himself  as  to  the 
possibility  of  amending  his  future,  and  becoming  a  dif- 
ferent man.  A  thousand  various  plans  suggested  them- 
selves to  his  mind,  a  thousand  various  plans  were  each 
in  turn  rejected  ;  only  one  he  had  determined  to  adopt 
— was  he  not  a  Schlemiel  ? — he  concluded  to  get  mar- 
ried. 

In  the  ghetto  there  is  but  Uttle  difficulty  in  obtaming 
a  wife.  Already  the  schadchan,-f  Rebb  Hasch,  was  en- 
gaged in  this  important  business,  for  even  during  his 
father's  hfe  he  had  cast  his  plottmg  eyes  upon  him,  and 
had  marked  him  for  his  prey.  One  day  he  came  upon 
Anschel,  and,  after  quite  a  lively  conversation,  he  pro- 
posed to  him  an  excellent  match.  His  decision  was  quick- 
ly taken  ;  he  agreed  that  at  the  approaching  Hoi  emoed\ 
they  should  both  betake  themselves  to  Collin,  to  see  his 
intended  wife.  For  the  rest,  the  affair  was  to  be  kept  so 
profoundly  secret,  that  no  one  should  surmise  what  his 
intentions  were. 

The  Hoi  emoed  having  arrived,  Anschel  found  himself 
among  a  number  of  those  who  were  also  bent  on  matri- 
monial missions,  in  order  to  try  their  luck  in  obtaining 
young  and  pretty  brides.  Beyond  the  town,  where  the 
main  roads  started  in  their  winding  paths,  a  little  one 
horse  coach  awaited  the  arrival  of  our  friend,  and  stood 
prepared  to  convey  him  to  the  blessed  abiding  place  of 
his  promised  bride,  to  the  haven  of  his  rest,  Rebb  Hasch, 
the  schadchan,  had  been  expecting  him  for  some  time  ; 
for  it  was  a  thing,  much  to  be  desired,  that  the  neigh- 
bors should  not  obtain  the  slightest  clue  or  information 
of  the  place  to  which  they  meditated  going. 

And  so  they  started  upon  their  journey.  Anschel  was 
seated  in  the  carriage,  quiet  and  meditative  ;  he  saw  in 
his  mind's  eye,  ascending  as  upon  a  new  Jacob's  ladder, 
the  pretty  image  of  his,  as  yet,  unknown  fiancee  ;  he  met 
her  but  half  way,  and  already  he  felt  a  better  man.  Mean- 
while, his  companion,  Bebb  Hasch,  drew  out  his  phylac- 
teries, and  began  to  offer  up  his  prayers.     Anschel  had 

*  The  week  of  mourning.  t  Matrimonial  agent. 

X  Days  intercalated  during  the  Passover  and  Feast  of  Tabernacles. 


20  ANSCHEL,    THE   SCHLElVnEL. 

said  his  at  home  :  he  preferred  to  reserve  the  interval  of 
his  journey  to  reflection.  Suddenly,  at  the  very  moment 
they  were  approaching  an  inn  bordering  on  their  road, 
the  schadchan  uttered  a  cry. 

"  "WTiat  is  the  matter,  Rebb  Hasch  ?"  inquired  Anschel, 
unexpectedly  startled  from  his  pleasant  day  dreams. 

"By  my  beard,"  shouted  he,  "there  is  Schlome  Katz!" 

"  And  then  ?  "  asked  Anschel. 

The  Schadchan  bowed  his  head  ;  he  was  plainly  dis- 
concerted and  annoyed  at  encountering  Schlome  Katz 
upon  his  route,  and,  more  particularly,  upon  this  event- 
fid  day. 

Before  the  inn,  which  they  were  rapidly  approaching, 
stood  a  carriage  drawn  by  two  horses,  which  were,  at 
that  moment,  being  watered.  Upon  the  threshhold,  there 
indeed  stood  Schlome  Katz,  whom  the  Schadchan's 
piercing  eyes  had  immediately  recognized.  He  was  just 
about  iilling  his  silver-mounted  i^ii^e,  and,  employed  in 
this  operation,  he  discovered  his  fingers  and  their  ght- 
tering  rings. 

"  Malediction !  "  exclaimed  the  Schadchan,  "  he,  also, 
is  engaged  in  a  matrimonial  expedition." 

"  May  Heaven  assist  j^ou !  "  cried  Schlome,  as  they 
passed  him.     "  AYhere  are  you  going,  Anschel !  " 

Anschel  blushed  as  red  as  a  cheny  on  seeing  his  pro- 
ject thus  discovered. 

"  Good  luck  to  you  !  "  said  Schlome,  gi'inning,  "  and, 
by  the  way,  my  dear  feUow,  try  and  not  be — a  Schle- 
miel ! " 

They  were  ah'eady  far  away  from  the  inn  ;  still,  Bebb 
Hasch  continued  to  look  uneasily  back,  whilst  his  coun- 
tenance betrayed  his  inquietude.  Anschel  did  not,  in  the 
least,  comprehend  this  precaution. 

"  AMiat  is  the  matter  ?  why  do  you  persist  in  looking 
behind  you,  Bebb  Hasch  ?  " 

"  Because  I  fear  that  Schlome  Katz  will  put  himself 
on  our  track  ;  because  he  was  in  his  holiday  costume  ; 
and,  finally,  because  I  was  convinced  he  is^also  seeking  a 
matrimonial  alhance." 

Hereupon  he  commanded  the  coachman  to  drive  more 
rapidly  ;  and  it  was  only  upon  finding  himself  a  league 
in  advance  of  his  dsmgerous  enemy,  that  he  slackened 


ANSOHEL,    THE   SCHLEMIEL.  21 

his  speed,  while  his  countenance  began  to  re-assume  its 
wonted  serenity.  The  reason  was  plain  enough  ;  he  en- 
tertained fears  for  his  match. 

At  noon  they  arrived  at  their  destination.  Anschel 
was  hugely  dehghted  at  the  effect  his  arrival  had  produc- 
ed in  the  neighborhood.  The  truth  was  his  countenance 
too  plainly  betokened  that  his  errand  was  matrimonial 
in  its  nature.  While  E-ebb  Hasch  was  taking  the  initia- 
tive, in  his  position  as  ambassador  for  Anschel,  by  an- 
nouncing to  his  parents-in-law  his  approach,  Anschel 
himself  remained  at  the  inn  awaiting  the  progress  of 
events.  Meanwhile,  he  was  compelled  to  undergo  a  sharp 
interrogation  on  the  part  of  madam,  the  inn-keeper  : 
*'  Whence  came  he  ?  Whither  was  he  bound  ?  What 
were  his  intentions  ?  "  But  he  was  as  uncommunicative 
as  a  fish,  not  permitting  the  slightest  hmt  to  escape 
which  might  betray  him.  At  length,  the  Schadchan 
reappeared,  and  whispered  in  his  ear  that  everything 
was  in  readiness  for  his  reception,  and  that  his  arrival 
was  momentarily  looked  for. 

On  the  road,  Rebb  Hasch  instilled  some  excellent  ad- 
vice into  his  listener's  mind,  as  to  the  manner  in  which 
he  should  comport  himself  in  the  presence  of  his  intend- 
ed :  he  should  avoid  eating  much,  but,  to  compensate 
for  this  deprivation,  he  should,  in  no  wise,  hmit  his  talk, 
so  that  he  should  be  set  down,  not  for  a  gourmand,  but 
for  an  intelligent  and  agreeable  speaker.  He  ought  to 
gaze  full  into  the  eyes  of  his  future  mate,  m  such  wise 
as  to  make  her  blush  at  every  moment ;  the  more  she 
blushed  the  better,  on  the  whole,  might  it  be  taken.  He 
ought,  in  general  terms,  his  wife  being  well  brought  up, 
to  display  his  manifold  knowledge  of  various  matters 
and  things,  to  converse  in  French,  and,  in  other  ways, 
exhibit  his  literary  and  scientific  culture.  These  con- 
cluding details  somewhat  disconcerted  Anschel ;  however, 
he  brushed  up  his  courage  and  entered  the  house.  But, 
at  the  very  moment  he  was  about  to  mount  the  stairs, 
he  encountered,,  descending  the  same  route,  whom? — 
Schlome  Katz !  Anschel  shivered  in  every  limb  as  he 
recognized  him.  As  to  Schlome,  he  smiled  with  an  ami- 
able air,  and  said  to  him  :  "  Maadtoph  !  "* 

"••'  Good  Inck. 


22  AKSCHEL,    THE   SCHLEMIEL. 

Anschel  stood  stupefied  on  the  stairway,  uncertain 
what  ought  to  be  done.  "He  has  forestalled  me,"  thought 
he,  "  what  is  to  be  done  ?"  However,  he  could  not  en- 
tertain that  idea,  seeing  that  he  was  individually  a  better 
match  than  Schlome.  "  She  will  take  me  in  preference 
to  him,"  said  he,  and,  with  a  heroic  determination,  he 
opened  the  door. 

He  found  the  family  all  prepared  for  the  reception. 
The  father  of  his  intended,  in  a  friendly  manner,  preced- 
ed him  into  the  room,  while  the  mother,  a  stout  woman 
with  a  rather  imperative  and  decisive  air,  saluted  him 
graciously  in  German.  They  entreated  him  to  be  seated, 
and  the  mother  retired  in  order  to  prepare  refreshments 
for  their  guest.  During  this  interval,  Anschel  was  obhged 
to  submit  to  a  seai'chmg  interrogation  fi'om  the  father, 
concerning  his  condition,  his  family  and  his  fortune.  He 
only  half  repHed  to  all  these  questions  ;  what  chiefly  pre- 
occupied him  was  the  desire  to  learn  if  his  intended  were 
handsome. 

A  moment  after,  the  mother  re-entered  the  room,  ac- 
companied by  her  daughter,  who  held  in  her  hand  a 
plate  filled  with  cakes  and  confectioneiy,  which  she  pre  * 
sented  to  Anschel.  But  he,  instead  of  paying  any  atten- 
tion to  this  proceeding,  gazed  intently  into  the  black  eyes 
of  the  young  girl,  and  was  so  enraptui'ed  and  fascinated, 
that  he  still  continued  to  gaze  and  gaze,  although  for 
some  time  ah'eady,  both  plate,  confectionery  and  bonbons 
had  fallen  from  the  gM's  hand,  and  lay  scattered  upon 
the  gi'ound.  The  future  bride  laughed  slyly,  the  mother 
looked  at  the  wi-eck  as  if  annoyed,  and  the  father  wound 
Up  with  a  hearty  burst  of  merriment. 

At  table,  they  placed  Anschel  by  the  young  girl's  side. 
But  the  incident  which  had  ah'eady  taken  place  rendered 
him  somewhat  sober  and  gloomy,  and  so  he  maintained 
a  sombre  silence  besides  her  whom  he  ought  to  have  en- 
tertained and  overcome  by  his  affability  and  pleasant  con- 
versation. Instead  of  eating  but  little,  he  devoured 
everjiJiing  before  him,  swept  the  table  clean,  without 
even  leaving  before  him  the  moiety  demanded  by  darech 
eretz,  that  is,  etiquette.  The  guests  looked  on  with  eyes 
that  spoke  voluuies.  Anschel  saw  all,  but  his  evil  star 
was  in  the  ascendant,  and  he  plunged  deeper  and  deeper 


ANSCHEL,    THE   SCHLEMIEL.  23 

into  the  mire.  He  did  nothing,  he  said  nothing, but  what 
was  totally  opposed  to  the  Schadchan's  advice.  Sudden- 
ly, he  heard  the  mother  observe  in  an  under  tone,  in  her 
daughter's  ear  :  "  He  is,  truly,  a  gi-eat  Schlemiel  1"  All 
the  blood  congealed  in  his  veins  ;  he  became  alarmed, 
and,  once  in  this  frame  of  mind,  his  unhappy  nature  re- 
sumed its  undisputed  sway. 

On  withdrawing  from  the  table,  he  was  left  alone  with 
his  intended.  The  father  and  mother  had  purposely  de- 
parted ;  and  now,  properly  speaking,  was  the  real  inter- 
view about  to  take  place. 

Anschel's  alarm  exceeded  all  bounds,  when  he  discov- 
ered himself  face  to  face  with  her.  Not  a  single  word 
escaped  his  Ups  ;  he  seemed  spell-bound,  although  the 
young  girl  appeared  to  await  his  introduction  to  the  con- 
versation. The  perspiration  started  to  his  brow.  Sud- 
denly— and  this  was  a  real  ray  of  light — he  pictured  to 
himself  how  Schlome  would  conduct  himself  under  sim- 
ilar circumstances.  He  would  not,  thought  he,  hesitate 
taking  her  gently  by  the  hand,  pressing  it  tenderly,  and 
accompanying  it  by  some  affectionate  and  endearing 
term  ;  and,  wrapped  up  with  this  idea,  he  desired  to  pur- 
sue the  same  course.  But,  meanwhile,  he  had  uncon- 
sciously approached  so  near  the  young  girl,  that  she 
could  not  repress  a  violent  cry  : 

"  My  corns !  my  corns !  "  she  exclaimed,  as  she  began, 
with  loud  lamentings,  to  limp  around  the  room. 

"  What !  you  have  corns  ?  "  demanded  the  terrified  An- 
schel,  "  I  didn't  know  it." 

The  young  girl,  half  laughing,  half  weeping,  still  hop- 
ped about  the  room. 

"  'Tis  plain  enough,"  said  she,  "  that  your  companion, 
Katz,  was  right  when  he  said "  ? 

"  And  what  did  he  say  ?  "  inquired  Anschel,  bending 
to  the  blow. 

"  That  you  were  a  Schlemiel !  " 

Anschel  sought  to  hear  no  more.  "What  more  could 
be  said  to  him  ?  The  term  Schlemiel  was  now  a  by-word 
with  the  young  girl.  And  before  dehberating  what  ought 
to  be  done,  he  had  already  hastened  to  the  door,  and 
slammed  it  behind  him.  He  rushed  down  stairs,  foui 
steps  at  a  time  ;  when,  suddenly,  he  encountered  Schlome. 


24  ANSCHEL,  THE  8CHLEMIEL. 

"  Well !  *'  demanded  the  latter,  "  may  we  congratulate 
you?" 

"  Clown !  "  muttered  Anschel,  as  he  fled  with  all  haste. 

He  was  at  first  so  utterly  cast  down,  that  he  debated 
with  himself  whether  he  should  return  home  or  not ;  it 
was  more  than  he  could  bear.  "WTiat  would  they  say 
when  they  should  hear  of  this  interview,  which  loaded 
him  down  with  disgrace?  "Would  Schlome  Katz  fail  to 
seize  the  opportunity  of  making  pubhc  his  shame  ?  The 
very  idea  of  returning  drove  him  well  nigh  to  despair  ; 
he  longed  only  to  escape  in  flight.  Impressed  with  this 
determination,  he  hastened  fi'om  the  town,  while  Rebb 
Hasch  sought  him  on  exery  side.  He,  on  his  part,  was 
as  inconsolable,  if  not  more  than  Anschel ;  for  were  not 
his*  hard  earned  laurels  as  Schadchan  concerned  ? 

It  was  late  enough  at  night  when  Anschel  returned  to 
the  town  ;  he  only  wished  to  seek  his  inn,  harness  his 
horse,  and  retreat  homeward  as  expeditiously  cs  possible. 
To  accomplish  this  manoeuvre,  he  was  compelled  to  jDass 
before  the  house  of  his  intended  bride.  Bright  lights 
ghttered  through  the  windows,  and  joyous  peals  of  laugh- 
ter echoed  on  the  street. 

"  Even  now,"  he  communed  with  himself,  "  they  are  en- 
joying themselves  at  my  expense ;  Schlome  Katz  is  seat- 
ed in  theu'  midst,  and  I  suppose  is,  at  this  moment,  re- 
peating to  them  with  infinite  satisfaction  i  '  He  is  a  Schle- 
miel,  he  is  a  Schlemiel ! ' "  And,  overcome  with  shame,  he 
crouched  as  he  darted  by.  On  turning  a  comer  of  the 
street,  from  which  a  few  steps  would  have  brought  iiim 
to  his  inn,  he  foimd  himself  before  a  httle  house,  in  which 
the  light  was  still  burning.  "Perhaps,"  thought  he,  "there 
is  otie  I  seek  within;"  and  prompted  by  an  irresistible  de- 
sire he  approached  the  wine  ow.  At  first  he  only  leaned 
against  the  wall  ;  then,  his  courage  revising,  he  boldly 
peered  into  the  room.  He  beheld  an  old  man  seated  at 
the  table,  a  book  opened  before  liim — doubtless  a  Geinara^ 
— and  in  which  he  seemed  absorbed.  The  light  stood 
near  him  ;  the  rest  of  the  place  was  shrouded  in  obscur- 
ity. Suddenly,  Anschel  heard  a  voice,  full  of  sweetness, 
proceed  from  the  comer  of  the  room  : 

*  Oral  Law. 


ANSCHEL,    THE   SCHLEMIEL.  25 

*•  Father,"  said  the  voice,  "  look  here,  please  ;  Fischele 
will  not  say  his  evening  prayers." 

Anschel  strained  his  eyes  in  order  to  catch  a  ghmpse 
of  her  who  had  just  spoken  ;  for  this  voice  touched  every 
chord  in  his  heart. 

By  good  luck,  the  old  man  took  up  the  light.  "  Look 
out,  Fischele,  I  am  coming  after  you !"  and  as  he  advanc- 
ed, Hght  in  hand,  the  room  became  more  and  more  illu- 
mined, until  Anschel  observed  a-  young  girl  seated  near 
a  child's  bed.  As  he  saw  the  old  man  approaching,  the 
child  obeyed,  and  the  girl  proceeded  to  make  him  repeat 
the  prayer  after  her,  word  for  word,  as  she  breathed  it 
fervently  forth  in  her  own  clear  and  melodious  voice. 
When  she  came  to  this  passage,  "On  my  right  stands 
the  angel  Michael,  on  my  left  the  angel  Gabriel,"  etc., 
Anschel,  who  had  Hstened  outside,  absorbed  in  breath- 
less attention,  and  wholly  charmed  with  the  beautiful 
group,  was  at  a  loss  to  understand  why  this  prayer  affected 
him  so  deeply  on  this  evening ;  it  seemed  to  him  that, 
until  now,  he  had  been  taught  to  repeat  it  only  mechan- 
ically and  incompletely,  while,  as  he  heard  it  then  ut- 
tered by  the  pure  lips  of  this  innocent  girl,  a  new  mean- 
ing, a  new  force  was  imparted  to  it,  and  he  felt  it  was 
not  an  appeal  in  vain. 

Suddenly  the  Httle  boy  cried  out:  "There  is  some 
one  looking  through  the  window !  "  and  immediately  hid 
his  head  beneath  the  coverlet.  Anschel  might  easily 
have  escaped  detection,  but  his  courage  failed  him  ;  a 
voice  like  to  that  of  the  j^oung  girl  seemed  to  call  out 
to  him — remain.  He  distinctly  heard  the  door  facing 
the  street  open  ;  he  heard  himself  called  ;  instead  of 
replying,  he  followed  in  the  steps  of  the  young  girl ;  and, 
before  he  had  time  to  recover  from  his  surprise,  found 
himself  within  the  room. 

In  a  short  time,  he  became  accustomed  to  his  odd  po- 
sition, made  himself  perfectly  at  home,  and  remained 
seated  at  his  ease,  as  if  he  had  known  the  family  for 
years.  Nay,  so  thoroughly  dehghted  was  he  with  his 
adventure,  that  he  never  gave  a  thought  upon  the  pro- 
priety of  retiring.  The  father  was  shochet  to  the  com- 
mune, that  is  to  say,  he  slaughtered,  according  to  the 
Mosaic    laws,  both  beasts  and  birds.      His  daughter. 


26  ANSCHEL,    THE  SCHLEMIEL. 

Esther  by  name,  was  both  good,  industrious  and  pious, 
and  excited  such  admiration  in  our  friend  that  he  could 
scarce  withdraw  his  gaze  from  her  downcast  face.  And 
as  he  looked,  his  ovm  face  brightened,  aud  he  communed 
with  himself  :  "  If  you  should  become  engaged  to  this 
girl !  You  cannot  return  without  a  promised  wife  ;  be- 
sides, in  taking  this  young  girl,  you  perform,  at  once,  a 
kind  and  meritorious  action.  Her  entire  affection  wiU 
be  centred  in  you,  and,  certainly,  never  will  she  enter- 
tain the  idea  of  calling  you  Schlemiel." 

No  sooner  thought  than  done.  He  demanded,  much 
to  the  astonishment  of  both  father  and  daughter,  the 
hand  of  Esther  as  his  bride.  But  their  astonishment 
was  changed  into  delight  when  he  communicated  to  them 
his  name  and  condition.  Standing  there  beside  her,  for 
once  a  proud  and  happy  man,  his  whole  face  illumined 
by  the  new  passion  which  had  entered  his  soul,  he  drew 
the  trembling  girl  towards  him,  and  asked  her  if  her 
consent  were  given.  She,  blushing  and  hangiug  low  her 
head,  answered  in  scarce  a  whisper :  "  I  do  not  think 
that  I  dishke  you,"  and  so  was  silent 

Eischele,  who  had  been  a  witness  to  aU  that  had  been 
said  and  done,  sprang  with  many  an  antic  from  the  bed, 
whilst  shouting  : 

"  Oh  !  I  am  going  to  let  every  one  know  Esther  is  en- 
gaged to  be  married.'' 

"There  will  be  time  enough  to-morrow,"  said  Esther. 

"  No,  no,  let  him  alone,"  entreated  the  happy  Anschel ; 
"  let  the  contract  be  immediately  dravni  up." 

In  the  presence  of  the  family  council,  summoned  by 
Fischele  and  assembled  during  the  evening,  Anschel  was 
formally  declared  the  Chosan*^  of  Esther.  As  to  any 
other  agreement  or  arrangement, nothing  was  to  be  done, 
for  the  Shochet  of  the  commune  was  too  poor  to  bestow 
any  dowry  upon  his  daughter. 

Ah !  was  not  this  a  noble  example  of  romantic  heroism 
in  the  life  of  our  Schlemiel  ?  But  what  wiU  the  ghetto 
say  ?  Already  I  hear  their  shouts  of  sarcastic  laughter, 
and  see  their  mockery  and  their  raillery. 

*  Betrothed 


AKSCHEL,    THE   SCHLEMIEL.  27 


m.— NIGHT, 

A  year  after,  Anschel  led  Esther  to  his  home  as  his 
wife.  The  marriage  ceremony  had  been  performed  joy- 
ously, and  celebrated  amidst  all  the  happiness  and  revel- 
ry which  its  advent  demanded,  and  now,  for  the  first 
time,  was  the  youthful  bride  about  to  be  conducted  to  the 
synagogue,  an  important  and  traditional  ceremony  among 
the  people. 

As  might  be  expected,  this  was  an  occasion  which  the 
amiable  gossips — those  social  hawks,  ready  to  pounce  up- 
on and  rend  to  pieces — could  not  well  permit  to  escape 
them,  and  so  they  repaired  in  full  force  to  the  synagogue, 
satisfying  at  once  their  consciences  by  this  liberal  display 
of  piety  and  their  instincts  by  the  opportunity  afforded  of 
tearing  their  poor  and  unresisting  prey. 

"  Have  you  seen  Schlemiel's  wife  yet  ?  "  demanded 
one. 

"  Not  I,"  rephed  the  other  ;  "  what  sort  of  a  creature 
is  she?"  ^ 

"  Of  course,  just  what  the  wife  of  a  Schlemiel  ought 
to  be.     The  barrel  always  smells  of  the  herring." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Oh !  only  that  she  has  a  hump  large  enough  to  build 
a  house  upon." 

"It's  my  opinion,"  chimed  in  a  third,  " he  would  have 
done  as  weU  here,  without  taking  the  trouble  to  go  such 
a  distance,  and  for  such  a  thing.  And  then,  after  all,  to 
think  she  hasn't  a  florin  to  her  name." 

"  Why,  bless  your  heart,  the  very  chemise  and  dress 
she  has  got  on  came  out  of  his  pocket." 

"  As  for  her  gold  chain,  every  one  knows  that  he  bought 
that  at  Hirsch,  the  jeweler's,  for  a  hundred  florins." 

"  Well,  what  would  you  have  ?"  added  another,  with  an 
air  of  sanctified  resignation.  "  Once  a  Schlemiel  always  a 
Schlemiel ;  and  he  can't  alter  the  case." 

How  far  thitf  amiable  conversation  would  have  been 
carried,  and  how  much  of  the  poor  girl  would  have  es- 
caped their  beaks,  it  is  impossible  to  say,  had  not  the 
sounds  of  a  joyous  refrain  suddenly  interrupted  them. 


28  A^SCKEL,    THE   SCnLEMlEL. 

Soon  after,  a  long  file  of  married  men,  clad  in  holiday 
costume,  appeared,  turning  the  corner  of  the  street  lead- 
ing to  the  synagogue.  Anschel  to-day,  for  the  first  time, 
attended  schule*  in  his  position  of  balbos.f  He  approach- 
ed, his  countenance  radiant  with  happiness,  between 
two  friends,  who  had  also  officiated  at  his  marriage,  and 
had  conducted  him  beneath  the  choupe.'l  To  have  beheld 
him  at  that  moment,  no  one  would  have  thought  of  de- 
manding, who,  in  the  wide  world,  was  the  most  content- 
ed of  mortals. 

Behind  him,  already  his  wife  for  two  days,  came  Es- 
ther, with  downcast  head,  amidst  a  bevy  of  young  and 
old  women,  who  esteemed  it  a  duty  to  accompany  the 
newly  made  wife,  betaking  herself,  for  the  first  time,  to 
the  synagogue.  Music,  hght  and  mirthful,  echoed  along 
the  street  ;  and,  wherever  she  passed,  the  windows  flew 
open,  and  a  score  of  inqusitive  heads  peeping  out,  said  : 
*'  Come,  let  us  see  what  this  Schlemiel's  wife  is  really 
like ! " 

Having  reached  the  synagogue,  the  music  ceased,  and 
the  young  married  couple  entered,  followed  by  their  cor- 
tege. Anschel,  as  he  moved  along  towards  his  seat,  was 
saluted  on  all  sides  with  the  cry  of  maseltoph.\\  "\\Tien 
the  weekly  chapter  had  been  read,  the  chasan^  called  An- 
schel before  the  Thora,  accompanying  this  call  with  a  sol- 
emn chant.  Happy  and  auspicious  moment,  thrice  happy, 
when  even  the  remembrance  of  youth  and  manhood  were 
blotted  from  his  memory  ! 

Meanwhile,  following  an  old  estabhshed  custom,  and 
one  impossible  to  avoid,  Esther,  in  the  woman's  gallery 
above,  distributed  Corinth  raisins  and  sweetmeats  to  the 
assembled  people.  Although  in  the  midst  of  utter  strang- 
ers, where  no  sympathy  was  to  be  expected,  and  none 
was  found,  still  they  exacted  from  her  all  the  obhgations 
of  derech  eretz,  as,  amidst  their  sneers,  their  laughter, 
and  their  ridicule,  she  committed  fault  aiter  fault. 

"  Not  the  slightest  conception  of  good  society !  "  said 
the  -ttife  of  the  administrator  of  the  commune,  curling 
her  hps  with  an  air  of  complete  contempt. 

*  Synagogue,     t  Old  member.      t  Canopy  nsed  at  weddings. 
II  Gooi  luck.         §  Minister. 


ANSCHEL,    THE  SCHLEMIEL.  29 

Par  parenthese,  it  must  be  known,  that  Esther,  who 
was  wholly  -unacquainted  with  her  person,  had  approach- 
ed another  woman,  and  had  presented  to  her  the  plate 
filled  with  bo'nbons,  before  paying  this  sign  of  respect  to 
the  first. 

"  What  could  you  expect,  my  dear  Madame  Gitel  ?"  re- 
marked a  neighbor,  who  considered  herself  no  less  in- 
jured !  "  Think  you  a.  woman  can  learn  good  breeding 
among  geese  and  ducks  ?  At  home,  she  has  nothing  else 
to  do  but  watch  for  the  poultry  sent  to  her  father  to  be 
killed.     How  can  you  expect  her  to  know  better  ?  " 

"  Yes,  and  she  even  scrubbed  the  dirty  floors  at  her 
father's,"  sneered  another. 

"  Do  you  not  see,  Madame  Gitel,  that  she  still  carries 
the  signs  of  her  drudgery  with  her  ?  Besides  that  Httle 
hump  well  becomes  her,"  added  a  small,  weak-haired  and 
weak-eyed  woman,  breaking  into  a  fit  of  laughter,  to 
which  the  rest  lent  their  voices. 

These  remarks  were  not  pronounced  in  so  low  a  tone 
but  that  the  poor  woman,  against  whom  they  were  di- 
rected, heard  them  all,  and  distinctly.  Nothing  so  sharp- 
ens our  senses  as  the  excitement  resulting  from  being 
placed  in  unusual  cii'cumstances.  Then,  every  sense  is, 
so  to  speak,  on  the  look  out,  and  our  soul  extends  itself 
into  a  thousand  different  channels.  Singular  to  remark, 
it  suffers  less,  at  seeing  itself  reproached  with  its  real 
faults  and  ignorance  of  customs,  than  at  hearing  attri- 
buted to  it  defects  which  it  does  not  really  possess.  So 
with  Esther.  Beyond,  in  truth,  an  almost  imperceptible 
inequahty  in  the  height  of  the  left  shoulder,  which  the 
cruel  and  piercing  eyes  of  a  woman  alone  could  have  so 
readily  detected,  there  was  absolutely  nothing  in  her  ap- 
pearance which  could  be  pronounced  a  blemish. 

Weighed  down  with  insufferably  shame,  she  felt  her 
remaining  strength  desert  her,  as,  with  wild  and  uncer- 
tain air,  she  wandered  through  the  throng  of  women  who 
pressed  forward  on  all  sides  to  wish  her  welcome.  Amidst 
such  circumstances,  where  she  was  in  need  of  all  her 
senses,  she  committed  fault  after  fault  against  the  rules 
of  derech   eretz. 

In  the  synagogues  there  are  neither  the  grand  and 
majestic  tones  of  the  organ,  nor  the  deHcate  fumes  of  in- 


30  ANSCHEL,    THE   SCHLEftHEL. 

cense,  nor  sackbuts  wherewith  to  subdue,  alleviate  or  ex- 
alt the  soul,  and  make  it  cease  to  remember  its  anguish 
and  its  soitows.  Here,  the  silent  tear  cannot  fall,  nor 
the  sigh  nor  sob  be  uttered  unless  the  world  should  see 
and  know  it  all.  And  Esther  wept,  wept  tears  of  inquie- 
tude and  embarrassment ;  amidst  all  these  whisperings, 
all  this  laughter  and  ridicule,  she  beheved  she  beheld 
herself  mocked  and  pointed  at  as  some  di-eadfully  de- 
formed wretch,  and  she  thought,  at  length,  that  she  was 
rea]ly  so. 

The  serrice  was  over,  and  Anschel  returned  homeward 
with  his  wife,  while  the  music,  as  before,  preceded  them 
on  their  way  with  its  meriy  strains.  Esther  was  silent, 
sad,  and  deeply  afflicted  ;  he  demanded  of  her  the  cause 
of  her  seeming  trouble  ;  to  which  her  mut<^,  appealing 
and  uptm-ned  face,  the  eyes  still  ghttering  with  their 
heavy  tears,  was  her  only  reply  ;  but,  as  he  continued  to 
repeat  his  question,  sobbing,  she  responded  : 

"  Oh !  do  not  ask  me,  Anschel,  do  not  ask  me  ;  if  you 
had  but  heard  what  they  said  !  " 

"  Stay !"  said  he,  ■v\dth  a  profound  sigh,  in  which  were 
blended  resignation,  anguish  and  despair,"  Stay,  my  wife, 
speak  not  to  me.  Oh  !  Esther,  let  there  be  no  word,  at 
least,  upon  this  subject." 

And  so  silently,  hand  in  hand,  they  wended  their  steps 
along ;  Esther  spoke  not,  from  womanly  vanity,  per- 
chance ;  Anschel,  because  his  soul  abhorred  to  hear  pro- 
nounced by  her  to  whom  he  had  forever  united  himself, 
the  sad,  the  weaiy,  the  gloomy  foi-mula  of  his  destiny. 

Was  it  not  a  truly  melancholy  sight,  thus  to  behold  all 
the  efforts  and  struggles,  all  the  good  resolutions  ma- 
tured through  many  a  sleepless  night,  adopted  as  a  last 
resource  and  rehance,  was  it  not  a  melancholy  sight  to 
see  these  cast  aside,  overcome  by  the  omnipotence  of 
prejudice  ?  Often,  in  the  battle  of  life,  fought  on  many  a 
bloody  field,  when,  breathless  with  the  contest,  the  ene- 
my seemingly  overthrown,  you  rest  and  dream  of  future 
quiet  and  happiness,  how  often  does  the  dreaded  serpent 
of  prejudice  raise  his  crested  head  again,  recalled  by  his 
own  blood  iuto  renewed  life  and  vigor  ?  Oh  !  it  is,  indeed, 
immortal  Many  a  weary  year  had  flown  by,  and  still  our 
friend  had  failed  to  make  the  least  advance  in  pubhc  opia- 


ANSCHEL,    THE   SCHLEMIEI,.  31 

ion  ;  on  the  contrary,  lie  lost  ground  more  and  more 
each  day. 

No  one  wished  to  transact  business  with  him,  for  was 
not  the  malediction  of  Heaven  plainly  visited  upon  a 
Schlemiel  ?  Had  he  silver  ?  Did  it  not  turn  into  lead  ?  Or 
a  good  idea  ?  Did  it  not  end  in  discomfiture  ?  Or  did 
he  calculate  upon  a  certain  profit  ?  Did  not  this  profit 
escape  him  ?  Who,  then,  in  view  of  this,  could  desire  to 
enter  into  any  business  relations  with  him  ?  Who  would 
seek  to  attach  the  bark  of  his  own  existence  to  the  debris 
of  a  vessel,  wrecked  and  fatally  predestined  to  misfortune  ? 

Anschel  perceived,  on  all  sides,  the  general  aversion  of 
which  he  was  the  object  In  no  way  could  he  give  satis- 
faction. Often  on  Sunday,  when  the  traders  were  gomg 
to  business,  might  Anschel  have  been  seen,  resting  tran- 
quilly in  the  street.  Then  they  said :  "  What  does  he  do 
here  ?  while  he  is  standing  idle,  business  is  done  under 
his  very  nose."  If,  on  the  other  hand,  he  preceded  the 
others,  they  were  wont  to  remark :  "What  ardor !  wouldn't 
you  think  that  he  was  afraid  of  losing  his  engagement  ?" 
Often  he  returned  from  his  rounds  wliile  it  was  still 
Thursday,  impatient  to  behold  once  more  his  dear  wife 
and  children.  "  Why  does  he  return  of  a  Thursday  ?" 
was  the  next  query.  And  if,  in  order  to  concede  to  them, 
he  did  not  return  until  late  on  Friday,  when  the  hghts 
were  already  burning  in  honor  of  the  Sabbath,  they  con- 
tinued to  reproach  him  :  "  He  is  not  only  a  Schlemiel, 
but  even  a  Fosche-Israel,  " 

Thus,  on  every  side,  they  fell  upon  Anschel,  as,  on 
every  side,  they  equally  avoided  him  ;  and,  as  he  could 
in  no  wise  satisfy  the  people,  he  finished  by  domg  noth- 
ing at  all — and  herein  was  his  iU  fortune. 

It  were  difficult  to  decide  exactly  when  or  how  his  ill 
fortune  began  or  ended.  In  a  very  short  time,  the  in- 
heritance of  Rebb  Isserl  had  disappeared,  to  the  entire 
wonderment  of  Anschel.  For  a  long  time,  already,  had 
he  known  the  progress  and  intentions  of  Schlome ;  for 
this  latter  made  no  hesitation  in  informing  all,  who  would 
give  ear  to  him,  that  he  had  engaged  the  workmen  to  re- 
pair his  house,  and  that  he  only  awaited  an  opportune 
moment.  Of  course,  with  commendable  kindness,  they 
hastened  to  inform  Anschel  of  these  words,  and  to  add 


32  ANSCHEL,    THE   SCHLEMIEL. 

thereto,  as  their  proHfic  minds  suggested,  other  remarks 
which  fell  Hke  so  many  drops  of  scalding  water  on  his 
souL     He  could  do  no  more  than  redouble  his  efforts. 

But  it  was  all  in  Tain  ;  Schlome  Katz  was  on  his  track 
like  a  blood  hound.  Had  he  for  a  long  time  meditated 
some  happy  speculation?  he  might  rest  assured  that 
Schlome  had  got  wind  of  it  and  forestalled  him.  Had 
he  a  business  appointment  for  five  o'clock  ?  Schlome  had 
already,  at  three,  settled  it  for  him.  A  thousand  demons 
seemed  to  note  his  inmost  thoughts  and  carry  them,  at 
once,  to  Schlome. 

Meanwhile,  Schlome  had  espoused  the  beautiful  Colli- 
nese  who  had  occasion  to  remember,  for  so  long  a  time, 
her  first  interview  with  Anschel.  Although  he  possessed 
absolutely  nothing  in  his  own  right,  still  no  one  hesita- 
ted to  give  to  him,  since  it  was  plainly  evident  he  was  a 
fellow  of  remarkable  tact  and  capabihty,  and  thus  had 
he  realized  the  prediction  of  the  ghetto  :  "  Schlome  had 
made  his  mark." 

From  time  to  time,  while  returning  homeward  on  the 
Friday,  Anschel  and  Schlome  would  encounter  each  oth- 
er at  the  entrance  to  the  ghetto. 

"Well!  is  business  prosperous?"  constantly  demand- 
ed the  latter,  slapping  his  leathern  girdle  full  of  money. 

"  I  am  thoroughly  prostrated  with  fatigue  ;  but,  'tis 
all  the  same,  the  house  shall  not  be  yours  ;  you  are  only 
going  to  useless  trouble." 

But,  alas !  of  what  avail,  however  heroically,  to  strug- 
gle against  a  power  confessedly  superior  ?  AVhen  mis- 
fortune pui'sues  a  poor  wiretch,  it  prides  itself  neither 
upon  generosity  nor  hiunanity  ;  it  attacks,  at  once,  front 
and  rear. 

Anschel  finally  came  to  the  conclusion  that  alone  there 
would  be  no  business  success  for  him  ;  he  thought  of  tak- 
ing a  partner  ;  but,  unfortunately,  there  was  no  one  of  his 
acquaintance  who  had  the  shghtest  desire  to  associate 
himself  with  him.  He  prayed,  he  entreated,  his  appeals 
were  in  vain  ;  he  addressed  himself  to  the  deaf,  and  reap- 
ed for  his  reward  naught  but  rephes  replete  with  gall 
and  bitterness.  However,  when  all  hope  had  vanished, 
he  did  succeed  in  obtaining  a  partner  who  would  try  the 
thing  with  him.     It  is  true,  the  partner  in  question  had 


ANSCHEL,  THE   SCHLEMIEL.  33 

not,  exactly,  mucli  to  risk  ;  for  the  conditions  were  that 
Anschel  should  furnish  the  capital  and  he  the  brains,  and 
the  profits  should  be  shared  equally  between  them.  But 
it  made  no  difference  ;  Anschel  was  in  the  seventh  heav- 
en at  his  good  fortune  in  securing  a  partner. 

At  the  start  all  went  well.  Six  months  having  passed, 
the  partner  took  his  share  of  the  profits,  while  Anschel 
let  his  remain  in  the  common  stock.  Hard  times  follow- 
ed, and,  although  affau-s  afterwards  took  a  favorable  turn, 
still  the  final  result  was  the  same.  The  gold  turned  into 
brass,  and  the  brass  into  lead. 

When  Anschel  and  his  companion  balanced  their  ac- 
count at  the  end  of  the  year,  both  found  themselves  far 
from  their  reckonings  ;  so  that  the  latter,  exasperated  be- 
•yond  all  bounds,  pounded  with  his  clenched  fist  the  ta- 
ble, and  taunted  him  with  being  nothing  but  a  Schlemiel, 
a  miserable  Schlemiel.  He  attributed  to  Anschel  all  the 
ill  success  of  the  enterprise,  and  only  regretted  one  thing 
— that  he  was  fool  enough  to  put  any  confidence  in  him  ; 
then,  with  an  air  of  desperation,  he  rose  and  departed  in 
a  whirlwind  of  rage.  The  Saturday  following,  Esther  ap- 
peared in  the  synagogue  without,  this  time,  wearing  the 
customary  golden  chain  about  her  neck. 

"  What  has  she  done  with  her  chain  ?"  inquired  one  in 
her  neighbor's  ear. 

"  She  has  pawned  it  to  Hirsch,  the  jeweler." 

"  Already  ?  " 

"What  else  ought  you  to  expect  from  such  a  Schlemiel?" 

Hpwever,  Schlome  Katz  seemed  to  await  patiently  the 
opportune  moment  before  tightening  his  hold  upon  his 
house.  Quite  frequently  was  he  heard  to  repeat :  "  If 
he  do  not  wish  to  yield  with  a  good  grace,  he  will  be 
compelled,  that  is  all  ;  let  him  alone  ;  I  predict  that 
Anschel  Gloser  will,  of  his  own  accord,  come  here,  to  my 
house,  to  bargain  with  me  about  his  property.  There  is 
still  a  to-morrow." 


34'  AKSCHEL,    THE   SCHLEMIEL. 


IV.—T0-3I0BB0W. 

"  There  is  still  a  to-morrow !"  How  many  weary  souls, 
such  ias  our  Anschel,  have  striveu  in  the  bitterness  of 
their  spirits  to  forget,  to  annihilate  that  word  ?  To-mor- 
row!— It  beai's  in  its  train  naught  but  the  promise  of 
new-bom  anguish  and  misery  ;  the  story  of  the  past  re- 
vived, renewed  ;  the  rising  of  a  sun  obscured  by  clouds 
and  gloom.  Perhaps  the  people  of  the  ghetto  had  so 
concluded,  for,  fi'om  the  very  moment  when  Anschel  was 
declared  a  bankrupt  man,  he  rose  in  the  pubhc's  estima- 
tion. An  inward  voice  seemed  to  repeat  to  them  that 
there  was  a  beiQg  stricken  with  the  plague  of  misfortune, 
and  that  to  continue  to  molest  him  was  to  commit  a 
crime  and  mortal  sin. 

They  sought  then  to  assist  and  counsel  him  ;  but  their 
assistance  came  too  late,  and  their  counsel  was  too  harsh 
and  cruel  to  endure  ;  they  advised  him  to  sell  his  house. 
Purchasers  were  not  found  wanting ;  but  Anschel  revolt- 
ed against  this  last  proposition ;  he  became  furious  when 
they  suggested  it. 

"  I  am  well  aware,"  he  cried  out,  "  that  it  is  Schlome 
Katz  who  sends  you  on  this  mission  ;  but  whoever  dares 
to  offer  me  such  advice  I  consider  my  bitterest  enemy. 
Yes,  sooner  would  I  become  schulklopfer*  aye,  sooner 
read  the  ThiUim,f  than  suffer  my  house  to  pass  into  his 
villainous  clutches." 

Thereupon,  he  attached  an  inestimable  value  to  that 
house  ;  in  his  eyes,  there  was  not  money  sufficient  in  the 
world  to  purchase  it.  He  clung  to  it  like  some  jDOor  ship- 
wrecked sailor  to  his  storm-tossed  vessel.  On  her  side, 
Esther  complained  but  httle,  although  she  suffered  and 
wept  in  silence. 

"  If  he  had  not  married  me,"  thought  she,  '•'  he  would 
have  made  a  good  match  ;  yes,  'tis  I  alone,  who  am  the 
cause  of  all  Ins  unhappiness  and  misfortune." 

The  period  estimated  by  Schlome,  when  the  house 
should  finally  come  into  his  possession,  had  nearly  elapsed; 
misery  hastens  forward  ^vith  redoubled  pace. 

*  Sexton.  +  PsalnLs. 


ANSCHEL,  THE  SCHLEMIEL.  35 

One  day,  during  his  lonesome  tramps,  Anschel  recol- 
lected that  it  was  the  very  anniversary  of  the  occasion 
when  he  had  conducted  his  Esther  to  her  nuptials.  His 
heart  mellowed  in  a  tender  joy  ;  he  saw  himself  again 
beneath  the  windows  of  the  room,  wherein,  for  the  first 
time,  he  had  beheld  her  ;  he  heard  anew  the  sacred  even- 
ing prayer,  repeated  to  her  brother :  "  On  my  right  stands 
the  angel  Michael ;  on  my  left,  Gabriel ;  before  me,  Ra- 
phael stands ;  behind  me,  Uriel ;  but  above  me  hovers 
the  majesty  of  God." 

Wrapped  up  in  these  sweet  and  consolatory  fancies, 
he  experienced  anew  what,  poor  fellow,  he  had  not  enjoy- 
ed for  many  a  long  and  sorrowful  day — a  few  moments 
of  happiness  unalloyed.  In  this  frame  of  mind,  he  has- 
tened onward  until  he  met  a  peasant  girl,  bearing  a  goose 
to  the  market ;  a  bargain  was  quickly  struck,  and  he  re- 
ceived the  goose  in  exchange  for  a  piece  of  cloth.  This 
purchase  he  intended  should  serve  for  the  ensuiug  Sab- 
bath's feast.  It  cannot  be  denied  that  the  cloth  which 
he  gave  was  thrice  the  value  of  the  bird  ;  still,  Anschel 
believed  he  had  effected  a  very  good  bargain,  and  went 
on  his  way  exceedingly  contented  in  mind.  He  traveled 
nearly  three  miles,  carrying  this  feathered  burden  under 
his  arm  ;  and  so  satisfied  and  overjoyed  was  his  whole 
expression  that,  to  have  seen  him,  one  would  have  thought 
he  carried  along  with  him  an  inestimable  treasure.  He 
stopped  for  a  few  hours  at  an  inn  situated  at  the  entrance 
to  the  town  ;  for  it  wa^  still  broad  dayhght,  and  he  hes- 
itated crossiQg  the  ghetto  with  the  living  purchase  under 
his  arm.     He  waited  until  it  was  night. 

"Look,  mother,  see  what  papa  has  brought  home," 
cried  httle  Schimmele,  as  Anschel  entered  his  house  with 
his  burden,  which  he  held  prudently  concealed  beneath 
his  overcoat.  In  his  anxiety  to  display  his  bargain  the 
bird  dropped  to  the  ground. 

"  A  goose !  a  goose !"  shouted  the  all-joyous  Schimmele, 
clapping  his  hands  in  delight.  Esther  looked  on  and 
smiled,  and  with  the  smile — a  thiug  of  rare  occurrence 
with  her  of  late — brought  back  to  Anschel's  mind  some 
old  and  well  nigh  forgotten  recollections. 

"You  shall  see,  Esther,"  said  he,  "that  this  goose 
brings  us  good  luck.     It  is  ten  years  to  day  since  we 


36  ANSCHEL,    THE   SCHLEMIEL. 

■were  led  beneath  the  ckoupe.  Let  us  make  a  merry  Sab- 
bath with  this  goose  ;  it  "will  do  us,  I  am  sure,  no  harm 
to  enjoy  ourselves  again  "with  a  few  hours  of  happiness." 

He  pronounced  these  words  sadly,  yet  hopefully,  too. 

*'  Yes,  dear  wife,  I  have  faith  that  aU  Ts-ill  be  well  yet ; 
heaven  cannot,  surely,  wish  that  1  should  be  utterly  for- 
lorn and  lost.     I  have  faith." 

He  spoke  now  with  so  great  a  confidence  in  the  future, 
that  one  would  have  imagined  he  held  in  his  hand,  al- 
ready written  and  sealed,  the  promise  that  his  lot  was, 
hcDceforth,  to  change,  and  for  the  better. 

Although  it  was  only  Wednesday,  Anschel  remained 
at  home,  forgetting,  for  the  time,  all  thoughts  of  busi- 
ness. He  wished,  so  to  speak,  to  sanctify  himself  for  that 
day  of  feasting,  as,  fonnerly,  did  his  ancestors  at  the  foot 
of  Sinai. 

Saturday  aiiived,  Anschel  was  seated  at  the  table,  sur- 
rounded by  the  many  pleasant  faces  of  his  httle  children, 
and  felt  as  happy  as  the  veriest  child  among  them.  Es- 
ther's features  shone  with  a  transparent  flush,  like  a 
bright  halo,  behind  which  ghttered  an  expression  of  in- 
tense and  complete  joy.  It  was  plainly  apparent  that 
she  trusted  and  had  hope  in  her  husband. 

After  they  had  washed  their  hands,  and  Anschel  had 
blessed  the  Sabbath  white-bread,  the  meal  commenced  in 
earnest,  much  to  the  evident  satisfaction  of  the  children, 
who  waited  in  anxiety  the  advent  of  the  treasured  goose. 

*'  To  day,  children,"  said  Anschel,  "  you  may  eat  and 
drink  as  much  as  you  like  ;  for,  on  this  day,  ten  years 
ago,  your  mother  and  I,  after  our  chasene,"^  were  led  for 
the  first  time  to  schule." 

The  children  laughed,  clapped  their  hands,  and  gave 
evidence  of  their  approbation,  which  overcame,  for  a 
time,  their  uneasiness  at  the  non-appearance  of  the  fowl. 
Anschel,  intoxicated  with  dehght,  gazed  round  upon 
their  smiling  countenances,  and  thought  within  himself : 
"Does  Schlome  Katz,  Katz  as  he  is,  does  he  enjoy  the 
pleasures  of  such  a  Sabbath  ?  No,  no  ;  for  this  he  must 
have  children,  and  God  has  not  blessed  him  with  such 
treasures." 

*  Marriage. 


ANSOHEL,  THE  SCHLEMIEL.  37 

The  impatient  murmurs  of  the  youngsters  recalled  him 
to  his  senses,  and  the  long  and  anxiously  expected  goose 
was  brought  in  amidst  a  breathless  silence.  It  was  a 
magnificent  example  of  judicious  roasting,  and  looked 
tempting  enough  to  move  an  epicure.  Anschel  himself 
determined  to  carve  on  this  occasion,  and,  with  this  in- 
tention, he  dehberately  rolled  up  his  sleeves,  seized  the 
carving  knife,  plunged  the  fork,  after  a  moment's  hesita- 
tion, into  the  breast,  then,  with  an  air  of  mingled  trepi- 
dation and  solemnity,  commenced  his  work.  To  convey, 
however,  any  adequate  idea  of  the  expression  of  his  fea- 
tures at  this  moment  were  beyond  the  powers  of  mortal 
being. 

The  goose  was,  at  length,  completely  carved,  and  still 
rested  in  dehcious  morsels  on  the  plate  before  him,  when, 
suddenly,  little  Schimmele  cried  out :  "  Look,  look,  there 
is  a  nail  driven  in  the  goose  !  " 

"  "Where  ?  where  ?  "  demanded,  at  the  same  time,  both 
Anschel  and  Esther.  The  child  pointed  to  the  place,  and 
there,  indeed,  the  nail  was  revealed. 

The  knife  dropped  quickly  from  our  Anschel's  hand, 
who  stood  transfixed,  his  face  paler  than  the  cloth  before 
him  on  the  table.  Esther  at  once  removed  the  bird,  and 
ordered  Schimmele  to  hasten  to  the  rabbi's  house,  and 
enquire  of  him  if  it  were  trefe^  or  not.  The  boy  seized 
the  dish,  covered  it  with  a  napkin,  and  staggered  away 
under  his  tempting  load  as  fast  as  legs  could  bear  him. 

Meanwhile,  gloomy  and  melancholy  silence  reigned 
throughout  the  house.  The  children  gazed  on  with  an  ex- 
pression of  disappointment  and  dismay.  Anschel  lowered 
his  eyes,  whilst  Esther  sat  immovably  in  her  seat  without 
uttering  a  word. 

A  few  minutes  afterwards,  Schimmele  returned,  but 
his  countenance  foreboded  no  good  ;  tears  were  in  his 
eyes. 

"Well?"  demanded  Esther,  as  he  stood  irresolutely 
on  the  threshold. 

"  The  goose — the  goose  is  trefe"  repHed  the  boy,  after 
a  desperate  effort,  and  sobbing. 

Esther,  calmly,  in  a  low  tone,  her  head  resting  gently 

*  Unclean. 


38  ANSCHEIi,    THE   SCHLEMIEL. 

on  her  hand,  said  :  "  Aiische],you  are  truly  a  great  Schle- 
miel!" 

Thus  had  she  in  her  turn,  pronounced  the  fated  word ! 
And  all  his  future,  as  all  his  past,  was  now  condemned ! 
What  wound  could,  thenceforth,  make  bleed  his  heart  af- 
ter this  blow,  which  she  had  leveled  at  it  ;  she  who  alone, 
of  all  the  world,  should  have  guarded  and  redeemed  him  ? 

"  I  shall  not  survive  this,"  he  said  to  himself,  with  an 
air  of  sad  and  mournful  resignation  ;  then  he  arose,  put 
on  his  overcoat,  and  left  without  a  word  of  adieu.  He  did 
not  return  until  late  at  night.  Esther  had  awaited  him, 
a  prey  to  uneasiness  and  alarm.  As  soon  as  he  entered, 
she  threw  herself  upon  his  breast,  and  wept  bitter  tears 
of  sorrow. 

"  Nay,"  said  he,  releasing  himself  gently  from  her  ca- 
resses, "  it  is  not  your  fault  ;  but  you  can  never  repair  the 
injury  you  have  done.  God  knows  how  I  have  toiled  and 
struggled  ;  stiU,  I  see  it,  I  am  a  Schlemiel  ;  I  have  just 
come  from  Schlome  Katz  ;  I  have  sold  the  house !  " 


Schlome  Katz  had  estabhshed  himself  for  some  time  in 
his  ancestor's,  or,  rather,  in  our  Anschel's  house.  He  had 
repainted  and  refitted  it,  and,  under  his  supervision,  it 
assumed  an  altogether  new  and  comeher  appearance.  Al- 
most the  livelong  day  did  he  gaze  from  the  windows,  en- 
veloped in  his  rich  and  comfortable  morning  gown,  and 
smoked  his  silver-mounted  pipe,  even  as,  years  before,  he 
had  so  confidently  predicted. 

There  was  one  day  in  the  year,  when  Schlome  appeared 
a  different  man — it  was  Youm  Kippur*  On  that  occa- 
6ion,he  never  quitted  the  synagogue,  he  prayed  and  mor- 
tified himself,  and,  when  the  chasan  came  to  this  passage  : 
"  "What  deeds  preserve  the  dead  from  the  torments  of  the 
hereafter  ?"andthe  congregation  responded,  "Prayer,  jus- 
tice and  repentance ; "  then  was  he  seen  to  beat,  with 
violence,  his  breast,  as  a  sign  of  penitence  and  sorrow. 

As  he  had  no  children  of  his  ovm,  he  adopted  the  or- 
phans of  Anschel  and  Esther  his  widow. 

*  Day  of  Atonement. 


ANSCHEL,    THE   SCHLEMIEL.  39 

The  very  day,  in  fact,  when  he  had  effected  the  sale  of 
the  house,  Anschel  departed,  none  knew  whither,  and 
never  returned. 

Many  weeks  subsequently,  some  peasants  in  the  neigh- 
borhood brought  back  his  dead  body,  which  they  had 
discovered  in  a  field  where  the  river  had  cast  it  up.  It 
was  reported  that  he  had  met  with  some  accident. 

Thereupon  was  he  buried.  Now  it  happened  that  one 
of  the  grave  diggers  slipped  on  the  moist  and  freshly  up- 
turned sod  of  the  grave  ;  and,  at  the  same  time,  the  dead 
body,  which  he  was  holding  by  the  feet,  escaped  from  his 
grasp  and  rolled  headlong  into  the  ditch.  Schlome  Katz, 
who  stood  near  by,  observing  the  accident,  looked  into 
the  grave,  and  said  : 

"  He  is  dead,  poor  fellow,  and  may  he  forgive  me  ;  but 
I  cannot  help  saying  it :  he  is,  to  the  very  end,  a  Schle- 
miel !  " 

And  this  was  the  last  stone  thrown  at  the  unhappy 
wretch. 


THE    SABBATH    EYE. 


THE    SABBATH    EYE. 

A  TKUE  STOKY  OF  BERLIN. 


•ooo^o 


In  the  year  1750,  when  he  was  fifteen  years  old, 
Joseph  Lehman  left  his  father's  house. 

He  had  been  an  unusuaUy  bright  boy,  obedient  to  hig 
teachers  and  parents,  of  handsome  and  cheerful  appear- 
ance, a  promising  student.  In  the  Hebrew  he  had  made 
marked  advance  for  so  young  a  "  seeker  after  knowl-. 
edge,"  so  that  his  friends  all  anticipated  for  him  a  bril- 
liant future. 

Herr  Moses  Lehman  was  a  well-to-do  merchant  of 
Berlin,  of  good  repute  among  the  citizens.  His  wife, 
Frau  Bertha,  was  widely  admired  for  her  beauty  of  mind 
and  person.  She  had  married  Lehman  when  she  was 
only  fourteen  years  of  age,  and  at  the  time  the  events 
here  recorded  occurred,  although  the  mother  of  ten  chil- 
dren, she  yet  looked  remarkably  young  and  attractive. 
Joseph,  being  her  eldest,  was,  as  usual,  the  favorite 
child.  It  is  no  wonder  that  she  had  so  strong  a  love  for 
him,  for  he  was  in  every  feature  her  "  own  son." 

On  the  night  of  September  14th,  young  Joseph  Leh- 
man left  his  father's  house,  to  the  astonishment  of  all 
who  knew  him.  Herr  Lehman  and  his  comely  wife 
were  spending  the  evening  at  the  house  of  a  friend, 
some  distance  from  their  home.  Theresa  and  Isaac 
were  at  the  theatre  in  company  with  their  uncle  ;  the 
other  children  were  abed.    Joseph  was  asked  to  go  with 


44  THE   SABBATH   Fl'E. 

his  parents  on  their  -visit,  but  he  told  them  he  preferred 
remaining  home,  so  as  to  devote  a  few  extra  houi's  to  the 
mastering  of  some  difficult  passages  in  the  Gemara,  in 
time  for  the  morning  recitation  ;  for  he  was  a  student  of 
Rabbi  Menasseh,  the  noted  preacher  of  the  city. 

The  Lehmans  retm-ned  home  at  about  eleven  o'clock, 
and  retu'ed.  In  the  morning  the  family  assembled  in 
the  parlor  for  prayer,  as  was  the  custom  in  most  private 
famihes  of  Germany.  It  was  noticed  that  Joseph  was 
absent,  and  this  was  remarkable,  for  he  was  ever  the  first 
to  arise,  and  was  regular  and  devout  at  prayers.  His 
brother  Isaac  ran  to  his  room  ;  his  bed  had  been  un- 
touched, and  the  coverings  lay  as  smooth  and  unruffled 
as  if  they  were  just  put  in  oixier  by  the  seiwant.  He 
hunied  down  to  tell  this  circumstance  to  his  father. 
Fi'au  Lehman,  suspecting  that  something  was  amiss, 
went  herself  to  Joseph's  room,  and  perceived  a  letter 
lyiQg  on  his  httle  table,  addressed,  in  a  firm  hand,  "  To 
my  ever  dear  mother,  Frau  Bertha  LEHiL\^\" 

She  hastily  opened  the  note,  but  had  scarcely  read  the 
first  few  words  before  her  shrieks  summoned  the  house- 
hold to  the  room,  where  they  found  her  lying  on  the  floor, 
unconscious,  her  fingers  holding  the  folded  letter. — 
These  were  its  contents  : — 

*'  I  have  left  my  home  never  to  return  nntil  it  is  God's  will  that 
I  shall  introduce  to  you  and  my  family  the  Light  which  I  have  this 
day  been  permitted  to  see.  Tell  my  father  that,  however  much  I 
thank  him  for  his  oft-repeated  instructions  to  me,  all  his  attempts 
to  make  me  a  believer  in  the  doctrines  of  his  faith  are  in  vain.  I 
can  no  longer  think  or  act  as  a  Jew  ;  and  I  pray  to  God  that  the 
hat  piness  which  I  now  feel  as  a  faithful  Son  of  the  Church  will  be 
soon  participated  in  by  all  those  beings  I  love  on  earth. 

"May  God  bless  you,  my  dear  mother.  I  shall  never  forget 
your  sweet  face.  Your  portrait  is  the  only  article,  except  my 
clothing  and  the  Httle  money  that  I  have  saved,  that  I  take  away 
with  me. 

*'I  go  far  away  from  Berlin.     I  go  in  company  with  a  good 
man,  who  will  see  that  I  am  provided  with  everything  needful  lor 
my  happiness.     It  is  useless  for  you  to  seek  me.    Fare  you  well ! 
*' Your  Son,  Joseph." 

Astonished,  grieved  and  terrified  were  the  inmates  of 
Lehman's  house  that  eventful  day.  Never  before  had 
such  a  misfortune  happened  to  any  Jewish  family  in 


TH3   SAEBATH   EVE.  45 

Berlin.  So  intelligent  and  promising  a  youth  as  Joseph, 
so  mild  and  obedient,  thus  to  break  his  connection  with 
his  family  without  any  apparent  cause,  or  suspicion  of  a 
cause,  was  a  circumstance  that  could  not  long  remain  a 
secret.  In  a  few  hours,  the  fact  was  known  throughout 
the  whole  Jewish  quarter.  Herr  Lehman  alone  bore  the 
sad  event  composedly,  and  sought  to  allay  the  violent 
grief  in  which  his  wife  and  daughter  Theresa  indulged. 
Fmitless  inquiries  were  made  of  the  neighbors  as  to 
whether  they  had  seen  Joseph  leave  the  house.  Herr 
Lehman  suspected  that,  ere  nightfall,  the  wanderer  would 
return,  as  he  could  not  realize  that  his  son  could  thus 
sever  the  tie  which  had  bound  them  so  pleasantly 
together. 

Night  came,  but  no  Joseph. 

Then  the  old  spirit  of  the  patriarchs  came  upon  him. 
He  summoned  his  family  to  the  parlor,  called  in  a  few 
of  the  neighbors,  including  Eabbi  Menasseh,  and  in  a 
low  but  firm  voice  he  said  to  those  around  him  : 

"My  friends,  my  eldest  son,  my  first-born,  Joseph,  has 
abandoned  the  faith  of  his  fathers.  I  and  my  family  will 
now  mourn  him  as  dead.  We  will  keep  Shiva.'^  And 
from  this  moment  I  do  not  wish  his  name  to  be  men- 
tioned in  my  presence  nor  befcre  any  of  my  household." 

Silently  and  sadly  the  Lehmans  sat  on  the  humble 
seats  that  were  provided  by  the  congregation  for  mourn- 
ers, the  Rabbi  rent  their  garments,  the  customary 
prayers  were  recited,  friends  briefly  offered  the  usual 
words  of  condolence,  and  Joseph  Lehman  was  of  the 
dead. 

n. 

It  was  Sabbath  on  the  night  of  September  14th,  1765. 
The  moon  was  shining  brightly  ;  the  air  was  clear  and 
mild.  The  service  at  the  synagogues  was  concluded, 
and  the  pious  worshippers  were  hurrying  hungry  to  their 
homes  and  the  genial  Sabbath  meal. 

In  the  house  of  the  Lehmans  there  was  unusual  ex- 
citement.    Rebecca,  the  youngest  child,  was  on  this  night 

*  The  seven  days  of  monming. 


46  THE    SABBATH    EYE. 

to  present  to  the  family  her  betrothed,  yotmg  Emil 
Stem.  Three  of  her  sisters  and  two  brothers  were  al- 
ready married.  Isaac  was  quite  a  patriarch  himself, 
having  not  only  his  own  five  young  ones,  but  his  mother 
and  her  unmarried  children,  to  care  for;  his  father,  Moses 
Lehman,  having  died  twelve  years  before  ; — some  say  of 
a  broken  heart,  although  he  preserved  his  outward  calm- 
ness to  the  last ;  but  it  is  probable  that  the  apostacy  of 
his  son  was  instrumental  in  the  causing  of  his  early 
death,  for  he  was  a  man  of  strict  probity  and  ^reat  family 
pride,  and  his  sensitive  feelings  had  been  terribly  wounded 
by  that  severe  blow. 

Grand  preparations  were  made  that  night  to  celebrate 
the  auspicious  event  that  was  to  introduce  the  Lehmans 
to  a  new  member  of  the  family,  as  well  as  to  welcome 
the  regular  weekly  guest,  or  rather  "  bride,"  as  the  good 
people  of  Berlin  called  the  Sabbath.  The  spacious  din- 
ing-room of  Isaac  Lehman's  house  seem  furnished  as  for 
a  banquet ,  for  chairs  and  dishes  were  placed  for  nearly 
thirty  people,  the  married  couples,  old  Mrs.  Lehman,  the 
venerable  Rabbi  Menasseh,  the  family  doctor,  such  of  the 
grandchildren  as  were  allowed  to  be  present,  and  a  few 
intimate  friends  besides.  Old  Mrs.  Lehman  had  just 
ensconced  herself  in  the  great  arm-chair  which  had  been 
in  use  for  almost  a  century.  Mrs.  Isaac  was  busy  in  the 
kitchen  giving  final  orders  and  superintending  the  bits 
of  ornament  which  were  being  placed  on  the  several 
savory  dishes — the  young  Misses  Lehman  being  engaged 
in  carrying  them,  when  decorated,  to  the  huge  table  in 
the  dining-room  ;  the  married  daughters  and  daughters- 
in-law  conversing  in  low  tones  as  to  the  subject  of  Re- 
becca's engagement  and  her  "  future  prospects  " ;  while 
Rebecca  herself  was  in  a  maze  of  excitement,  now  open- 
ing the  window  to  see  if  the  people  were  returning  from 
Schule,  then  looking  at  the  clock  and  wondering  whether 
it  was  not  time  for  her  betrothed  to  arrive,  for  his  busi- 
ness that  day  was  such  as  to  prevent  his  attending  Syn- 
agogue. 

At  last  the  table  was  laid,  and  the  ladies  had  nothing 
else  to  be  busy  about,  except  probably  to  consult  the 
quaint  miiTor  occasionally,  and  endeavor  to  discern  some^ 
thing  amiss  with  their  personal  appearance,  wlien  the 


THE   SABBATH   EVE.  47 

welcome  sound  of  hurrying  footsteps  was  heard,  and  the 
door  was  scarcely  opened  when  the  happy  and  hungry 
men  and  boys  rushed  in,  eager  to  receive  the  Sabbath 
kiss  and  exchange  mutual  congratulations.  In  a  few 
moments  young  Stern  arrived,  and  the  circle  was  com- 
plete. Mr.  Lehman  introduced  his  future  brother-in- 
law  to  all  assembled.  Emil  was  previously  known  to 
Isaac  alone,  having  lived  in  Frankfort,  where  a  month 
ago  he  had  met  and  loved  Rebecca,  who  Vv  as  spending  a 
short  visit  there  with  a  school  friend.  Mr.  Stern  was 
cordially  welcomed  by  all,  both  because  Rebecca  was  the 
favorite  child,  and  also  by  reason  of  his  prepossessing 
appearance,  and  the  reputation  which  had  preceded  him. 
Then  Rabbi  Menasseh  having  recited  the  usual  Sabbath 
blessing,  the  company,  in  the  best  of  humor,  proceeded 
to  enjoy  the  sumptuous  fare  which  their  generous  host 
had  provided. 

Amid  the  general  hilarity  that  prevailed,  the  animated 
conversation  and  hearty  laughter,  no  one  observed  the 
unusual  dejection  which  preyed  upon  old  Mrs.  Lehman. 
The  conduct  of  her  eldest  son,  and  the  untimely  death 
of  her  beloved  husband,  had  combined  to  deprive  her  of 
the  vivacious  spirits  which  had  formerly  characterized 
her  as  the  happy  wife  and  mother.  She  was  frequently 
addicted  to  nervousness  and  low  spirits,  but  time  had 
gradually  reconciled  her  to  her  bereavement,  and  after  a 
few  years  she  never  betrayed  to  those  around  her,  that, 
despite  the  benign  and  cheerful  look  which  her  face  al- 
ways presented,  her  loving  heart  often  felt  for  the  one 
who  was  absent  and  perhaps  forgotten  by  all  but  herself, 
and  her  mind  never  ceased  to  remember  the  pretty  boy 
who  was  so  fond  of  her,  and  who  had  promised  in  that 
last  cruel  letter  of  his  never  to  forget  her  who  was  still 
his  mother.  So,  on  this  joyous  night,  when  more  than 
at  other  times  she  should  have  been  happy  and  con- 
tented, she  felt  strangely  indifferent  to  the  merriment 
and  happiness  around  that  Sabbath  table.  To  her  never- 
forgetful  mind,  one  loved  face  was  absent — ^her  first-born, 
who  should  have  sat  in  the  seat  of  honor  which  Isaac 
now  occupied — and  as  she  reflected  on  the  sad  past,  so 
she  inwardly  prayed  that  the  wanderer  might  soon  re- 
turn and  be  an  honored  member  of  the  community,  as 
was  his  father  before  him. 


43  THE   S-iBBATH    FV-E. 

But  hark !  "Wliat  noise  is  that  in  the  street  ?  "Who, 
on  this  peaceful  Sabbath,  can  be  so  forgetful  of  the  rest 
that  all  good  Israehtes  should  enjoy  every  Friday  night  ? 
The  noise  becomes  louder,  curses  strong  and  deep  appall 
the  startled  ears  of  the  listeners. 

"Never  mind,  good  folks,"  said  Isaac  Lehman,  ** pro- 
bably the  noise  comes  from  some  drunken  brawlers. 
Don't  mind  them,  the  pohce  will  soon " 

His  words  came  to  a  sudden  stop,  when  the  sound  of  a 
heavy  fall,  directly  in  front  of  their  door,  aroused  their 
feelings  of  humanity,  and  the  men  rushed  outside  in 
time  to  hear  the  words,  "  Die  then,  you  beggar,  if  you 
wish  it,"  and  a  taU  man  dressed  as  a  priest  ran  at  full 
speed  up  the  street.  Isaac  and  the  others  hfted  his  un- 
fortunate companion  and  carried  him  indoors,  laying 
him  on  a  servant's  bed  adjoining  the  kitchen. 

This  untoward  occurrence  cast  a  gloom  over  the  spirits 
of  the  little  assemblage,  and  they  now  spoke  in  subdued 
tones,  waiting  with  some  anxiety  to  hear  a  report  from 
the  doctor,  who  at  once  proceeded  to  the  room  where  the 
man  lay,  to  discover  the  extent  of  his  injuries,  and  to  use 
such  remedies  and  restoratives  as  his  knowledge  of  his 
art  afforded. 

Soon  he  appeared  at  the  door  of  the  dining-room,  and 
his  pallid  face  and  nervous  manner  betokened  that  his 
patient  was  dangerously  wounded,  if  not  already  past  all 
medical  aid. 

"  Mr.  Lehman,"  he  asked,  "  will  you  come  in  the  haU 
for  a  moment  ?  " 

Isaac  quickly  answered  the  summons. 

"  ^liat  is  it  ?     Is  the  man  dead  ?     Who  is  he  ?  " 

The  doctor  made  no  answer  to  the  three  questions, 
but  gravely  begged  Lehman  to  dismiss  the  company,  as 
it  would  be  necessary  for  the  well-being  of  the  sufi'eret, 
who  he  was  pained  to  say  was  a  Jew,  that  the  house 
should  be  kept  perfectly  quiet. 

Mr.  Lehman  then  returned  to  the  room,  and  briefly 
informed  his  relatives  and  friends  of  what  the  doctor 
had  told  him  ;  on  hearing  which,  the  guests  silently  rose 
and  prepared  to  depart.  They  all  felt  sorry  for  the  poor 
man  who  had  met  with  such  severe  treatment,  and  had 
so  rudely  disturbed  their  comfortable   meal,  although 


THE   SABBATH    EVE.  49 

they  did  feel  rather  shocked  when  it  was  told  them  that 
the  sufferer  was  an  Israelite  ;  but  their  sorrow  was  in 
truth  the  more  heartfelt  for  poor  Rebecca,  who  was  sob- 
bing piteously,  crying  that  it  was  a  "  cruel  shame  that  it 
should  have  happened  just  on  the  first  night  that  dear 
Emil  was  home  v.  ith  us."  Emil,  too,  looked  rather  woe- 
begone, but  he  was  restored  to  good  humor  when  the 
time  for  departure  arrived,  and  to  him  of  course  was  as- 
signed the  agreeable  task  of  taking  Rebecca  home.  She 
lived  only  a  few  yards'  distance  from  Isaac's  house,  but 
this  made  no  difference  to  Emil,  for  he  purposely  walked 
home  in  the  wrong  direction,  and  failed  to  see  his  error 
— as  did  pretty  Rebecca  also — until  he  had  gone  over  a 
mile,  when  he  gallantly  said,  "  So  much  the  better,  my 
dear.     There  is,  then,  a  mile  more  for  us  to  walk  back." 

So,  lovers-hke,  they  slowly  retraced  their  steps,  stop- 
ping every  now  and  then  to  gaze  at  the  glories  of  the 
moon,  which  seemed  to  smile  at  their  devotion,  until 
they  arrived  again  at  Isaac  Lehman's  abode.  Rebecca 
was  surprised  to  see  that  the  dining-room  was  still  alight, 
and  the  shadows  of  figures,  sitting  near  the  window  cur- 
tams,  betokening  that  the  family  had  not  yet  retired  for 
the  night. 

"Let  us  go  in,  Emil,  dear,"  said  she,  "probably  we 
can  hear  more  about  the  poor  man  whose  unfortunate 
accident  spoiled  our  evening's  enjoyment." 

Emil  knocked  at  the  door. 

Isaac  Lehman  answered  the  knock  himself.  His  face 
was  ghastly  pale. 

"Why,  Isaac,  what  is  it?  Are  you  sick?"  anxiously 
asked  Rebecca. 

"Alas,  Rebecca  dear,  little  did  you  know  what  you 
were  saying  an  hour  ago,  when  you  declared  what  a  shame 
it  was  that  our  enjoyment  should  be  so  interrupted.  Re- 
becca, I  grieve  to  tell  you  that  the  man  who  is  dying  in 
this  house,  dying  from  the  blows  of  an  assassin,  is  our 
long  lost  brother — Joseph  !  " 

"O,  no,  Isaac,  teU  me  that  you  are  mistaken.     It  can 

not  be  that  our  poor  brother  should  perish  thus,  and  on 

this  of  all  nights,"  cried  Rebecca.     She  was  a  baby  when 

the  trouble  had  occurred,  but  ignorant  as  she  was  con- 

6 


50  THE   SABBATH    EYE. 

ceming  her  misguided  brother,  she  could  never  think  of 
him  without  pity  and  regret. 

They  entered  the  dining-room  "which  they  had  so  re- 
cently left,  but  with  such  different  feelings.  Rebecca 
sobbed  convulsively ;  the  Lehmans  sat  around  quietly 
•waiting  for  intelligence  from  the  adjoining  room.  Old 
Mrs.  Lehman  was  by  the  bedside  of  her  son,  cooling  his 
feverish  brow,  soothing  his  pain,  and  talking  to  him  with 
those  words  of  endearment  which  only  a  mother  can  ut- 
ter. Isaac  stood  by  her  side,  anxiously  watching  the 
broken  breathing  of  the  sufferer,  and  at  every  apparent 
change  ghdiug  softly  into  the  room  where  the  gi'ie-sing 
relatives  were  seated,  and  answering  their  numerous  in- 
quiries as  best  he  could. 

Isaac  had  recognized  his  brother  as  soon  as  he  beheld 
him.  He  was  deeply  shocked,  but  his  grief  was  the  more 
lest  his  widowed  mother  should  become  aware  of  the  sad 
fact.  Could  she  survive  the  blow  ?  He  expressed  his 
fears  to  the  doctor,  but  that  worthy  man,  who  had  at- 
tended Mrs.  Lehman  since  her  marriage,  fe!t  convinced, 
from  his  knowledge  of  her  character,  that  no  ill  effects 
would  result  from  her  being  acquainted  with  the  sad 
truth.  Besides,  the  sufferer,  in  the  midst  of  his  parox- 
ysms of  pain — for  the  wound  was  mortal,  and  he  had  but 
few  hours  to  hve — was  continually  moaning  "Mother!" 
"  Come  to  me,  mother,"  so  that  at  last  Isaac  willingly 
consented  that  she  should  be  told  the  truth.  ^\Tien  INIrs. 
Lehman  heard  who  was  lying  in  the  next  room,  she  at 
first  felt  incHned  to  faint,  but,  by  a  strong  effort,  she  com- 
posed herself,  calmly  said,  "  God  has  heard  my  prayers. 
He  has  allowed  me  to  see  my  first-bom  before  I  die," 
and  in  a  moment  she  was  with  her  son,  kissing  his  thin 
Hps,  and  gazing  tenderly  on  his  never-forgotten,  although 
greatly  changed,  features.  She  ceased  to  think  of  his 
early  abandonment  of  her  and  his  home,  of  his  apostacy, 
of  his  reckless  hfe — for  reckless  it  must  have  been  to  have 
come  to  so  wretched  an  end — but  thought  of  him  only 
as  he  was  in  the  days  of  his  boyish  innocence,  when  he 
was  the  pride  of  the  community. 

Joseph  lay  in  a  state  of  unconsciousness  for  about  an 
hour,  when  his  senses  returned,  and  he  beheld  strange 
faces  about  him.     He  gazed  at  them  for  some  time,  won- 


THE   SABBATH    EYE.  61 

dering,  amid  all  his  pain,  where  and  among  whom  he  was 
lying.  At  last,  Mrs.  Lehman,  prompted  by  the  physician 
who  saw  that  reason  had  returned  to  the  sufferer,  and 
that  but  a  little  time  was  left  him  wherein  to  recognize, 
and  be  consoled  by,  his  relatives — said,  in  a  low  voice  : 

"  Do  you  know  me,  Joseph,  my  son  ?  Do  you  not  re- 
member your  mother,  my  dear  boy  ?  Speak  to  us,  Jo- 
seph, and  tell  us  where  you  have  been  since  last  we  saw 
you." 

Joseph  knew  the  voice  at  once.  With  a  loud  cry,  he 
lifted  himself  from  the  bed,  threw  his  weak  arms  around 
his  mother's  neck,  and  begged  her  to  kiss  and  bless  him 
before  he  died. 

"  O,  mother,  I  have  not  long  to  live,  but  something 
tells  me  that  I  shall  live  long  enough  to  tell  you  all  I  have 
suffered  since  I  became  the  great  sinner  I  am.  But, 
mother,  tell  me,  I  implore  you,  that  you  forgive  me  for 
the  wrong  I  have  done,  and  then  I  am  ready  to  die." 

"  Forgive  you,  my  child !  I  have  never  forgotten  you 
since  the  cruel  night  you  left  us.  Forgive  you?  Alas, 
my  boy,  I  would  I  could  give  you  a  life  to  Hve  again,  and 
be  to  me  the  good  son  you  always  were.  See,  Joseph, 
here  is  your  old  playmate  and  brother,  Isaac,  and  there 
are  Theresa  and  Moses,  and  here,  my  dear  boy,  is  your 
little  sister  Rebecca,  who,  to-night,  celebrates  her  be- 
trothal." 

The  brothers  and  sisters  in  turn  pressed  Joseph's  hand, 
and  spoke  to  him  words  of  comfort. 

Joseph  had  sinned,  and  greatly,  but  now  that  he  was 
about  to  leave  this  world,  and  stand  in  the  presence  of 
the  great  Judge,  it  was  for  them  to  make  his  last  hours 
as  cheering  and  happy  as  possible. 

Death  levels  all  earthly  feehngs.  In  the  presence  of 
the  great  Destroyer,  pride,  anger,  hatred,  revenge,  stand 
abashed,  and  Love  alone  should  remain  to  solace  the 
helpless  victim. 

"  Mother,  dear  mother,"  said  the  dying  man  in  broken 
accents,  "  before  I  die,  let  me  tell  you  how  bitterly  I  ac- 
knowledge my  great  error.  That  man  who  struck  me 
this  blow  which  is  hastening  my  death,  was  my  early 
tempter.  Years  ago,  when  I  was  a  young  student  at  the 
Rabbi's,  he  would  waylay  me  on  my  path  to  the  school, 


62  THE  SABBATH    EVE. 

and,  in  honeyed  words,  attempt  to  seduce  me  from  my 
religion.  Flattered  by  his  praises,  I  yielded  to  his  wishes, 
and  became  a  Christian  !  That  night  I  left  my  home,  I 
met  him  just  outside  of  the  Judeiigasse,  and  begged  him 
to  go  with  me  to  the  priest  who  had  baptised  me,  to  ask 
him  whether  I  could  not  renounce  my  newly-made  vows 
— but  he  refused  me,  said  I  was  now  a  Christian,  and 
could  never  return  to  my  old  faith.  I  stayed  at  his  house 
some  days,  fearing  to  walk  out  lest  I  should  meet  some 
one  who  knew  me.  One  night,  Strasser — ^my  tempter — 
told  me  that  he  had  been  in  the  Judengasse,  and  had 
heard  that  my  father  was  keeping  Shiva  for  me,  that  I 
was  dead  to  all  my  house,  and  I  could  never  return. — 

"  Oh,  mother,  that  was  a  hard  blow  for  me.  I  had 
hopes  of  going  to  my  home  on  some  night,  of  seeing  you 
alone,  and  of  asking  you  to  intercede  for  me  with  father  ; 
— but  this  intelhgence  made  me  resign  all  idea  of  return- 
ing to  you.  Then  Strasser  made  me  think  ill  of  you  all, 
for  forgetting  me  so  soon  and  giving  me  up  as  one  dead, 
instead  of  searching  the  city  everywhere  to  find  and  re- 
claim me. — 

"  Then,  mother,  I  went  to  Vienna,  entered  a  church  as 
a  chou'-singer,  would  have  risen  in  the  estimation  of  the 
priests,  but  the  other  singers  taunted  me  about  my  Jew- 
ish countenance,  and  I,  afraid  lest  they  might  discover 
who  I  was,  left  the  church,  and  wandered  about  the  city 
for  months  in  search  of  employment.  Jews  I  would  not 
apply  to,  for  I  could  not  mingle  with  them  for  fear  of  be- 
ing detected.  Christians  would  not  trust  me,  so  they 
said,  for  I  looked  like  a  Jew. 

"  O,  mother,  I  cannot  tell  you  the  life  I  then  led,  with 
whom  I  associated,  what  I  was  forced  to  do,  what,  alas ! 
I  did  of  my  own  accord.  For  ten  years  I  Hved  a  life  of 
wrong,  of  crime,  a  life  of  constant  fear,  never  illumined 
by  a  ray  of  joy,  my  hopes  blasted,  my  youth  wrecked,  my 
future  cursed. 

"Never  may  any  of  you  realize  the  wretchedness 
which  overwhelmed  me  when  I  learned  of  the  death  of 
my  father.  None  but  the  son,  who  is  a  wanderer,  an 
outcast,  can  properly  picture  the  utter  desolation  which 
I  felt  when  I  heard  that  all  my  expectations  of  paternal 
pal'don  and  blessing  were  in  vain.    My  father — he  whom 


THE   SABBATH   EVE.  "  63 

I  had  always  reverenced — ^worshipped — died  with  no 
words  of  forgiveness  or  remembrance  for  his  sinful  son. 

"  Three  years  ago,  I  again  met  Strasser,  who  knew  me 
at  once,  and  employed  all  his  wily  eloquence  to  make  me 
his  tool.  Driven  by  want  and  despair,  I  consented  to 
act  as  agent  in  Pesth  for  a  despicable  society  with  which 
he  was  connected,  whose  object  was  to  kidnap  Jewish 
children  and  turn  them  into  holy  adherents  of  the  church ! 
I  tried  to  do  as  my  associates  did,  lure  little  boys  and 
girls  from  their  homes  and  set  them  against  their  par- 
ents and  their  God.  But,  mother,  I  could  not  ;  villain 
as  I  was,  but  not  so  bad  as  that.  I  could  not  destroy  the 
peace  of  others  as  mine  had  been  destroyed.  Again  I 
fled,  and  happily  fell  in  with  a  benevolent  man  who  took 
pity  on  my  forlorn  condition  and  made  me  the  tutor  of 
his  children.  He  was  a  kind-hearted  Christian.  His  sons 
profited  by  my  instruction,  and  I  took  every  opportunity 
to  instill  into  their  young  minds,  a  love  for  aU  mankind,  a 
pity  and  respect  for  the  Jews,  feehngs  to  which  the  young 
of  our  day  are  strangers. 

"  Inspired  by  the  peaceful  surroundings  of  that  good 
family,  my  thoughts  gradually  returned  to  their  old  chan- 
nels, and  I  began  to  feel  again  as  a  Jew. 

"O,  mother,  earnestly  and  tearfuUy  I  prayed  every 
night  to  God  to  give  me  hope  for  future  pardon,  and  to 
strengthen  me  in  my  endeavors  to  do  what  was  right. — 

"  My  strength  is  fast  faihng  me,  I  cannot  linger  much 
longer.  This  night,  being  in  BerHn,  a  strange  curiosity 
impelled  me  to  approach  the  old  house  and  see  whether 
you  all  hved  there.  I  saw  you  sitting  by  your  Sabbath 
table,  looking  happy  and  merry,  while  I,  your  first-born 
son,  was  an  outcast  and  an  apostate.  Suddenly  a  man 
approached  me,  touched  my  shoulder,  and,  in  a  sneering 
voice,  asked  me  if  I  would  like  to  be  one  of  the  merry 
party.  I  knew  the  man — it  was  Sti'asser  !  In  a  moment 
the  history  of  my  past  Hfe  passed  before  me.  I  thought 
of  nothing  save  this  one  cruel  fact,  that  I  was  a  vagabond, 
and  this  man  was  the  cause  of  my  suffering.  I  struck 
him,  grappled  with  him — he  plunged  his  dagger  into  my 
side — and  I  knew  no  more  until  I  found  myself  in  this 
welcome  room,  with  you,  my  deai-,  dear  mother,  by  my 
side." 

5* 


64  THE  SABBATH   EVE. 

Joseph's  voice  grew  weaker  and  weaker,  until  it  was 
almost  inaudible. 

"  Mother,  will  you  forgive  me — Mother — ^kiss  me  once 
more.     Say  the  Shemang  for  me  ! — Mother  !  " 

And  Joseph  Lehman  was  no  more  among  the  living. 


A  TALE  OF  THE  nQUISITION. 


A  TALE  OF  THE  IIQUISITIOIf. 


-OOO^OO" 


It  was  a  cold  night  in  the  month  of  December,  1660. 
The  wind  blew  with  force  ;  and  in  the  intervals  of  its  most 
violent  blasts,  the  hail  came  through  the  thick  fog  which 
covered  the  city  of  Amsterdam,  that  rich  capital  of  Hol- 
land, lying  on  the  borders  of  the  Zuyder  Zee  ;  that  in- 
dustrious city,  so  proud  of  its  bold  dams,  of  its  edifices 
built  on  the  water,  and  of  its  navies  of  vessels  which 
come  to  the  very  doors  of  its  warehouses  to  pour  in  the 
riches  of  the  two  worlds,  and  leave  it  as  soon  as  winter 
comes  and  when  the  fogs  reign.  For  then  this  Batavian 
metropolis  presents  a  very  sad  spectacle  ;  everywhere 
water,  everywhere  canals  overflow  ;  large  mud  puddles, 
and  the  admirable  dikes  built  by  the  l3utch,  seem  each 
moment  to  yield  to  the  efforts  of  the  waters  which  threat- 
en to  submerge  that  fertile  region. 

It  was  nine  o'clock,  and  the  city  seemed  deserted  (for 
the  storm  obhged  the  citizens  to  remain  in  their  homes), 
when  two  men  might  have  been  seen  advancing  towards 
a  small  public  house,  having  for  its  sign  Absalom  hung- 
up to  a  tree  by  the  hair,  and  which  was  situated  near 
the  place  which  is  now  called  Juden-Herren-Gracht. 

They  proceeded  with  caution,  wrapped  up  in  large 
cloaks,  and,  after  many  efforts  to  resist  the  fury  of  tlie 
wind,  and  not  to  fall  in  the  canal  bordered  with  trees, 
which  they  were  coasting,  they  entered  the  inn  in  good 


58  A   TALE    OF   THE   INQUISITION. 

health  and  spirits.  A  smell  of  rancid  oil,  juniper  and 
burnt  wine  welcomed  them  upon  their  entrance  ;  and 
when  they  had  divested  themselves  of  their  dripping 
cloaks  and  had  approached  to  the  fire  to  dry  themselves, 
the  drinkers  arose,  recogniziQg  in  one  of  the  new  comers 
their  friend  Van  Khef,  proprietor  of  the  inn  of  Absalom. 

It  was  in  fact  the  host  Van  Klief,  wlio  had  just  pro- 
cured a  physician  for  his  wife  Boby,  suddenly  taken  with 
a  violent  nervous  attack.  Not  being  able  to  find  their 
family  physician,  the  honest  inn-keeper  had  decided  to 
procure  a  Spanish  physician,  lately  arrived  in  Holland, 
and  who  gave  his  name  as  Don  Balthazar  Orobio.  As 
soon  as  the  host  and  the  doctor  had  entered  the  sick 
chamber,  the  guests  recommenced  their  playing  and  con- 
versation. 

The  inn  of  Van  Klief  was  not  much  patronized  except 
by  IsraeHtes,  who,  through  the  spirit  of  nationality,  came 
by  preference  to  a  co-religionist ;  and  HoUand,  which  has 
always  distinguished  itself  for  the  liberty  of  conscience, 
which  she  has  accorded  to  the  followers  of  the  laws  of 
Moses,  contained  already  several  Israelitish  communities, 
who  were  noted  for  their  wealth  and  good  conduct.  The 
Israelitish  congregation  of  Amsterdam,  especially,  had 
floui'ished  since  a  few  centui'ies  ;  and,  as  if  they  had  un- 
dertaken to  answer  to  the  reproach  of  idleness  so  unjust- 
ly attributed  to  the  IsraeHtes,  had  for  a  long  time  em- 
ployed their  children  in  rude  works  at  the  docks,  in  the 
exercise  of  the  most  difficult  trades  and  in  selhng  at  re- 
tail, in  the  open  au',  in  wheelbanows.  It  was  to  this 
class  of  society,  then,  that  the  numerous  guests  assembled 
on  that  night  in  the  Inn  of  Absalom  belonged,  and  the 
discussion  was  on  the  sacrifices  they  had  made  for  reli- 
gion. 

"  I,"  said  a  big  merchant  of  fruit,  having  a  double  chin, 
an  inflamed  face  and  a  large  bald  head,  "  I  remember 
having  had,  one  Friday,  fruit  in  my  wheelbarrow  which 
was  beginning  to  spoil.  I  was  going  to  sell  it,  when  the 
clock  struck  six  and  announced  that  the  Sabbath  prayers 
were  beginning.  I  hurried  to  my  house  and  put  away 
my  merchandise,  which  on  Sunday  morning  had  become 
unsaleable." 

"I,"  said  another,  "was  employed  in  a  brewery,  and 


A   TALE   OF   THE   INQUISITION.  59 

at  the  coming  of  the  Feast  of  Passover,  did  not  wish  to 
continue  working  a  substance  which  contained  leaven,  so 
I  preferred  being  dismissed.'* 

"  I,"  spoke  a  third,  "  was  travelling,  and  not  being  able 
to  procure  food  prepared  according  to  the  rites  of  our 
rehgion,  I  fed  myself  on  bread,  water  and  eggs  during  a 
fortnight,"  and,  added  he,  with  a  deep  sigh,  "  I  did  not 
have  the  pleasure  of  eating  cheese  during  all  that  time." 

"What  is  all  that !"  observed  a  tall,  lean,  yellow-faced, 
long  and  bony  armed,  negro-haired  individual,  "  hear 
what  I  did  one  Yom  Kippur  evening.  I  was  coming  from 
the  synagogue,  when  I  heard  a  man,  getting  in  his  chaise, 
say  to  his  two  porters  :  '  Do  not  cross  the  street  of  the 
Jews  ;  those  dogs  have  a  feast,  and  I  wish  to  have  noth- 
ing in  common  with  them  to-night.'  I  said  to  myseK  : 
*  Stop  a  moment,  old  carcass  of  herring  ;  wait  a  bit.  I 
will  pay  you  for  your  words.'  Thereupon  I  very  slyly 
followed  the  steps  of  my  man  ;  and  on  arriving  at  the 
borders  of  a  muddy  rivulet,  I  seized  the  chaise  and  flung 
it  in  the  mud,  together  with  the  two  porters." 

A  loud  burst  of  laughter  welcomed  this  good  trick,  and 
the  hero  proudly  brandished  his  nervous  arms,  and 
walked  the  smoky  room  with  a  triumphant  air,  when,  to 
the  astonishment  of  all  present,  a  clear  firm  voice  cried 
out  loudly  :  "  And  you  have  done  very  wrong."  At  those 
words  a  great  din  was  raised  in  the  assembly. 

"  Who  says  that  ?  "  rose  from  all  parts  of  the  room. 

"  I,"  quietly  answered  a  man,  who  being  occupied  in 
warming  himself  for  a  few  moments,  had  escaped  the  no- 
tice of  the  guests  ;  and  as  he  rose  to  repeat  the  observa- 
tion, he  was  recognized  as  Don  Balthazar  Orobio,  the 
physician  that  Van  Klief  had  brought  with  him.  He  was 
a  tall  man,  of  noble  carriage  and  distinguished  air  ;  his 
hair  was  of  a  beautiful  black  ;  his  small  moustaches  were 
shaped  in  points  ;  the  color  of  his  complexion,  and  es- 
pecially his  accent,  indicated,  if  his  name  had  not  akeady 
done  so,  that  he  was  a  Spaniard. 

When  he  saw  tliat  he  was  heard,  and  that  his  audience 
gave  proofs  of  discontent,  which  might  have  been  mani- 
fested otherwise  than  by  words,  he  added  with  energy  : 

"  Violence  against  a  man  who  does  not  profess  our  re- 
ligious belief,  ought  not  to  be  tolerated  by  liim  who  is  tru- 


60  A   TALE   OF   THE  INQUISITION. 

ly  pious.  If  such  were  not  the  case,  it  would  be  in  fact 
estabhshing  the  power  of  the  strong  over  the  weak,  and 
the  omnipotence  of  the  majority  against  the  minority.  It 
would  be  lowering  faith — that  Divine  torch — to  the  con- 
dition of  ignoble  merchandise,  which  is  bought  and  sold. 
It  would  be  transforming  rehgion — that  language  of  con- 
science— into  a  contagious  disease,  which  obhges  those 
who  are  attacked  by  it,  to  conceal  it,  for  fear  of  being 
pursued,  sequestrated,  and  even  assassinated  judicially." 

Don  Balthazar,  seeing  that  his  auditors  were  moved 
with  the  solemnity  of  his  words,  quietly  sat  down  near 
the  fire  to  dry  himself  thoroughly  ;  and  they  were  about 
to  request  of  him  an  explanation,  when  Van  KHef  enter- 
ed, bringing  a  large  tumbler  of  smoking  hot  wine,  on  the 
sui'face  of  which  Seated  a  citron  peel. 

"  Drink  this,"  said  he,  to  the  Doctor  ;  "  it  will  warm 
you  ;  and  since  you  are  pleased  to  wait  until  my  poor 
wife  awakes,  relate  something  to  us,  you  who  have  come 
from  so  far.  This  recital  wiU  help  us  to  pass  our  time, 
and  wiU  give  an  opportunity  to  make  the  medicine  you 
have  ordered  for  my  Boby." 

"I  consent,"  rephed  the  physician,  with  mildness. 
"  That  which  I  will  relate  will  serve  as  an  expHcation  of 
what  I  have  been  teUing  these  gentlemen  ;  and  wiU  prove 
to  them,  perhaps,  that  the  sacrifice  I  have  made  to  my 
behef  was  more  difficult  than  to  throw  a  man  into  the 
water." 

The  guests,  on  hearing  this  peroration,  immediately 
left  their  tables  and  formed  a  circle  around  the  stove,  in 
which  was  put  an  additional  quantity  of  combustibles. 

All  the  animated  figures  that  placed  themselves  on  the 
dai'k  side  of  the  blackened  inn,  hghted  only  by  the  re- 
flection of  a  smoky  lamp,  recalled  a  tableau  of  Teniers, 
illuminated  a  la  Rembrandt.  At  the  same  time,  the  storm 
which  raged  without,  adding,  by  its  irregular  blasts,  to 
what  was  awful  in  the  words  of  Orobio,  accompanied  by 
a  rain  which  splashed  against  the  octangular  windows, 
cased  in  lead,  seemed  like  a  terrible  confirmation  of  his 
words.     He  commenced  as  follows  : — 

"  The  scenes  which  I  am  about  to  relate  to  you  are 
very  sad  :  great  misfortunes  have  crossed  my  path,  and 
yet  I  am  but  thirty  years  old." 


A    TALE   OF    THE   INQUISITION.  61 

"  Thirty  years  ?"  exclaimed  the  assembly,  with  painful 
astonishment ;  for  Orobio  seemed  at  least  fifty.  Grief, 
no  doubt,  had  drawn  those  deep  lines  which  furrowed 
his  face,  otherwise  so  noble  and  distinguished.  He  pro- 
ceeded : — 

"  My  father,  Don  Csesar  Orobio,  a  wealthy  citizen  of 
Madrid,  possessed  an  immense  fortune — the  handsomest 
palaces,  the  richest  meadows,  gold  in  immense  quantities, 
sumptuous  furniture,  and  servants  in  gTeat  numbers. 
These  are  objects  which  surrounded  me  from  my  infancy. 

"  These  riches  had  not  been  acquired  by  my  father, 
but  descended  to  him  by  paternal  inheritance.  To  pre- 
serve them,  very  heavy  sacrifices  had  been  imposed  upon 
his  ancestors.  You  have,  without  doubt,  heard  of  that 
iniquitous  tribunal  known  as  the  Inquisition,  which,  un- 
der the  pretext  of  protecting  the  Cathohc  faith,  has  sul- 
lied it  with  an  eternal  blot  of  blood  ?  From  the  first 
years  of  its  existence  in  Spain,  the  Inquisition  has  perse- 
cuted the  Israelites  ;  and,  finally,  on  the  31st  of  March, 
1492,  it  forced  them  to  quit  the  Peninsula. 

"  To  know  how  difficult  it  is  to  separate  ourselves  from 
Spanish  life,  one  must  have  lived  under  that  beautiful 
sky  ;  one  must  have  trod  upon  the  soil  of  so  rich  a  vege- 
tation. Exile  became  impossible  to  my  ancestors.  They 
preferred  abjuration,  and  were  among  those  hundred 
thousand  Israehtish  famihes — forming  nearly  one  miUion 
of  individuals — who  changed  the  religion  of  Moses  for 
Christianity  ;  but,  as  it  was  necessity,  and  not  convic- 
tion, which  had  led  them  to  apostacy,  they  remained  Is- 
raelites at  heart,  and  Christians  but  in  appearance. 

"  Then  the  Inquisition,  seeing  that  its  mandates  were 
disregarded,  took  the  most  severe  measures  against  those 
who  followed  the  customs  of  the  Jews.  Its  atrocious 
punishments  will  appear  to  the  eyes  of  future  generations 
as  merely  the  effects  of  a  disordered  imagination,  so  dif- 
ficult will  it  be  to  believe  these  cold-hearted  cruelties. 

"My  great-grandfather,  although  appearing  in  the 
churches,  and  acting  the  character  of  a  pious  Cathohc, 
had  his  son  secretly  circumcised  ;  and  he  did  the  same 
to  my  father.  But  Don  Cassar,  in  whom  the  Israehtish 
zeal  had  faded,  baptized  me,  and  endeavored  to  train  me 
in  the  Cathohc  faith.     He  did  not  do  this  as  an  act  of 


62  A   TALE   OF    THE    INQUISITION. 

conscience,  for  he  himself  was  not  a  believer  ;  but  when 
he  saw  that  the  vengeance  of  the  Inquisition  became 
daily  more  terrible,  he  resolved  to  break  off  entirely  his 
connection  with  Judaism,  and  to  make  of  his  children 
good  and  sincere  Catholics. 

"  Unfortunately  for  these  projects,  my  mother  had  yet  a 
spark  of  Jewdsh  feeling  in  her  bosom.  By  her  discourses 
and  her  writings  she  accustomed  us — my  two  brothers, 
my  sister,  and  myself — from  our  infancy,  to  trust  only 
in  the  Israehtish  faith  for  the  salvation  of  our  souls. 
This  often  occasioned  discussions  in  our  household,  which 
were,  however,  quickly  ended,  because  Don  Caesar  adored 
his  wife. 

"  We  were  growing  up,  and  our  education  was  advanc- 
ing. Destined  for  the  medical  profession,  I  made  rapid 
progress  in  that  science.  My  sister  was  very  beautiful, 
and  was  to  be  married  to  a  noble  hidalgo,  when,  in  less 
than  a  week,  a  fatal  disease  carried  her  off,  together  with 
my  mother  and  two  brothers.  My  affliction  was  without 
Hmit ;  but  it  is  impossible  to  describe  the  despair  of  my 
father.  Sorrow  placed  even  him  at  the  bimk  of  death  ; 
and  he  revived  but  slowly  to  life,  and  the  consciousness 
of  the  a^vful  loss  he  had  sustained. 

"  Since  that  day  his  character  became  morose.  Any- 
thing irritated  him.  His  eyes  were  bloodshot  ;  and  I 
soon  perceived  that  painful  sensations  continually  op- 
pressed his  heart.  I  was  not  long  in  learning  this  terri- 
ble secret.  My  father,  tortui'ed  with  remorse,  attributed 
the  misfortunes  which  had  befallen  him,  to  the  coldness 
he  bore  for  the  Israehtish  faith.  The  voice  of  conscience 
told  him  that  the  time  of  disguise  was  past ;  that  he  was 
an  Israehte  at  heart,  and  that  he  should  not  fear  to  show 
himself  one. 

"  In  vain  I  remonstrated  with  him  on  the  danger  of  so 
foolish  a  project.  He  would  understand  nothing.  '  I  am 
guilty  towards  God,'  he  would  reply  to  me  ;  '  and  I  owe 
Him  atonement.'  And  when  I  proposed  to  fly  from  Spain, 
he  told  me  that  he  ought  to  die  there  where  was  the 
grave  of  his  wife.  His  conduct  was  no  longer  a  mj- steiy. 
One  night  we  were  both  arrested  and  conducted  to  the 
cells  of  the  Holy  Office. 

"How  can  I  relate  to  vou  all  the  terrors  this  tribunal 


A   TALE   OF   THE   INQUISITION.  63 

had  in  its  proceedings !  After  a  first  interrogation,  in 
which  they  made  use  of  every  thing  in  their  power  to 
persuade  me  to  accuse  my  father,  I  was  left  alone,  during 
fifteen  months,  in  a  dismal  dungeon.  No  books  were 
given  me.  I  was  in  the  most  complete  solitude  ;  and  it 
was  so  damp  that  the  matting  decayed  from  mere  con- 
tact with  the  ground.  I  would  have  forgiven  them,  those 
infamous  jailors,  for  forbidding  me  to  complain — for  gag- 
ging my  mouth  when  I  spoke  out — for  striking  me  when 
I  cried  aloud — for  leaving  me  without  a  piece  of  furni- 
ture, without  clothing — for  causing  me  to  sleep  on  the 
ground — for  feeding  me  only  on  rotten  bread — ^for  tor- 
turing me  amid  an  unhealthy  atmosphere.  But  yet  the 
most  odious  punishment  they  inflicted  on  me  was  that 
they  did  not  speak  to  me  of  my  father  during  those  long 
fifteen  months  ;  that  they  did  not  answer  me  when  I 
asked  them  if  he  yet  lived,and  contented  themselves  with 
laughing  cruelly  when  I  wished  to  know  how  soon  my 
trial  would  come  on. 

**  At  length,  one  night,  two  jailors,  with  sinister  coun- 
tenances, came  to  lead  me  away,  and  conducted  me 
through  an  innumerable  number  of  windings.  Having 
lost  the  habit  of  walking,  I  tottered.  I  was  no  longer 
accustomed  to  hgbt,  and  my  eyes  could  not  bear  the  pale 
brightness  of  their  torches ;  and, instead  of  supporting  me, 
those  two  guides  struck  me  with  cruelty  to  make  me  has- 
ten my  pace.  "We  reached  an  underground  cave,  where 
reigned  the  most  profound  silence,  and  on  which  was 
written  this  terrible  inscription,  '  The  Chamber  of  Torture.' 

"  In  the  centre  were  erected  the  dreadful  instruments 
of  torture,  and  on  a  sort  of  stage  were  seated  three  In- 
quisitors— their  features  hidden  beneath  a  hood,  just  as 
if  they  were  frightened  to  appear  with  uncovered  faces 
before  their  victims.  One  of  them  asked  me  to  accuse  my 
father  ;  I  strenuously  refused,  but  endeavored,  on  the 
contrary,  to  exculpate  the  author  of  my  existence.  He 
then  made  a  sign,  and  two  men  advanced  towards  me. 
They  were  dressed  in  black  robes,  and  likewise  had  their 
heads  covered  with  a  hood  of  the  same  color,  with  a  place 
cut  out  for  the  eyes,  nose  and  mouth.  These  men  were 
the  executioners.  They  seized  me  and  stripped  me  of 
my  ragged  garments. 


64  A    TALE    OF   THE   INQUISITION. 

"  Then  the  Inquisitor  again  urged  me  to  confess  the 
crime  of  my  father  ;  and,  as  I  refused,  he  ordered  that 
the  torture  of  the  cord  should  be  appHed  to  me.  My 
hands  were  bound  behind  my  back,  by  means  of  a  rope 
passed  through  a  pulley,  attached  to  the  vault.  The  ex- 
ecutioners thus  elevated  me  in  the  air,  and  after  having 
left  me  a  few  minutes  in  this  position,  let  the  rope  go 
with  violence,  and  I  remained  suspended  in  the  air  at 
about  half  a  foot  fi'om  the  ground.  This  terrible  toss 
dislocated  all  my  joints,  and  the  cord  which  squeezed  my 
w^rists  entered  through  the  flesh  as  far  as  the  nerves. 
Here,  gentlemen,  is  the  mark." 

The  audience  drew  back  with  horror  at  this. 

"  At  this  period  I  was  twenty-three  years  of  age.  I 
was  vigorous,,  and  my  soul,  especially,  was  well  tried.  I 
courageously  bore  that  terrible  pain,  while  I  affirmed  that 
my  father  was  innocent. 

"  They  then  passed  to  the  second  torture,  which  was 
administered  by  means  of  water.  I  was  laid  on  a  kind 
of  wooden  horse,  made  in  the  form  of  a  gutter,  without 
any  other  bottom  than  a  stick  which  traversed  it,  and  on 
which  the  body,  falhng  backward,  was  bent  by  the  effect 
of  the  mechanism  of  the  wooden  horse,  and  assumed 
such  a  position  that  the  feet  were  more  elevated  than  the 
head.  This  position  was  extremely  painful,  and  my  limbs 
experienced  the  most  distressing  suffering,  occasioned  by 
the  pressure  of  the  rope  which  bound  them.  Then  the 
Inquisitor  introduced  through  my  throat  a  w^et  piece  of 
fine  linen,  a  part  of  which  covered  my  nostril.  Water 
was  poured  in  my  mouth  and  nose  so  slowly,  that  it  re- 
quired an  hour  to  swallow  the  smallest  quantity.  I  could 
not  respu-e.  Each  moment  I  made  an  effori  to  swallow, 
hoxDing  to  give  passage  to  a  httle  air  ;  but  as  the  wet  hn- 
en  put  an  obstacle,  the  water  entered  at  the  same  time, 
through  the  nostrils.  You  may  conceive  the  sufferings 
which  I  had  to  bear. 

"  I  was  on  the  point  of  suffocating  :  I  made  a  sign  that 
I  wished  to  speak.  They  then  released  me,  and  conduct- 
ed me  near  the  Inquisitors.  Then  I  declared  that  I  was 
an  Israehte,  that  I  merited  death,  and  that  I  sought  to  be 
led  to  it,  but  that  these  sufferings  were  useless. 

"  *  It  is  not  you  of  whom  it  is  questioned,'  repHed  the 


A   TALE    OF    THE   INQUISITION.  65 

chief  of  the  Inquisitors,  in  a  sepulchral  voice,  '  but  of 
your  father.' 

" '  My  father  is  innocent,'  I  replied,  with  firmness. 

"  '  Well,'  coldly  rephed  the  same  famihar  of  the  Inqui- 
sition, 'pass  on  to  the  torture  of  fire.' 

"  The  executioners  bound  my  legs  and  hands  in  such  a 
manner  that  they  could  not  change  their  position  ;  then 
they  rubbed  my  feet  with  oil,  and  I  was  placed  before  a 
strong  fire,  where  I  remained  until  my  flesh  was  cracked, 
and  the  bones  and  nerves  appeared  at  all  parts.  At  that 
moment  I  thought  I  would  die,  and  I  fell  insensible.  I 
learned  since  that  the  physician  attached  to  the  establish- 
ment had  declared  that  I  could  not  support  any  more.  I 
was  reconducted  to  my  cell,  and  it  was  six  months  before 
I  recovered  from  those  atrocious  tortures  of  that  night. 
But  my  heart  was  tranquil. 

"  I  had  not  accused  my  father. 

"  AVhen  I  recovered,  it  was  announced  to  me  that  I 
should  appear  at  the  next  Auto-da-fe.  This  ridiculous 
word,  which  signifies  act  of  faith,  is  the  appellation  given 
the  execution  of  the  decrees  of  the  Inquisition.  In  fact, 
a  few  days  after,  I  was  wrapped  in  a  cloak  which  is  worn 
by  condemned  heretics,  consisting  of  a  shirt  without 
sleeves,  a  large  yellow  cross  on  the  breast  and  back,  and 
a  pasteboard  bonnet,  on  which  were  painted  devils  and 
flames.  Thus  attired,  I  was  obhged  to  follow  a  solemn 
procession. 

"  We  started  from  a  church  where  the  service  of  the 
dead  was  celebrated.  Thence,  we  proceeded  to  a  large 
pubhc  park,  on  one  side  of  which  were  erected  stages  for 
those  invited,  and  on  the  other  hand  an  amphitheatre 
for  those  condemned.'  Surrounded  by  soldiers,  priests 
and  penitents,  of  aU  grades,  we  arrived  there,  chained 
and  gagged,  with  our  feet  bare.  I  imagined  I  was  walk- 
ing to  death.  I  felt  happy  in  the  thought  that  the  term 
of  my  sufierings  was  at  an  end  ;  but,  after  a  sermon, 
which  was  dehvered  to  us  by  a  friar,  our  sentence  was 
read,  and  I  learned  that  I  was  condemned  to  pass  my 
days  in  a  convent,  where  I  must  pronounce  the  vows  of 
seclusion  and  poverty.  All  the  wealth  of  my  family  was 
confiscated  for  the  benefit  of  the  Inquisition.  At  a  dis- 
tance of  about  twenty  paces  from  me,  an  aged  man  was 
6* 


66  A   TALE   OF   THE  INQUISITION. 

advancing  with  tottering  steps.  His  cloak  was  drawn 
over  liis  face,  his  trembling  hand  was  swinging  to  and  fro 
a  taper  of  yellow  wax,  his  white  hair  discovered  a  fore- 
head marked  with  deep  lines  of  sorrow.  Those  attenu- 
ated features  appeared  familiar  to  me.  But  judge  of  my 
horror  when  his  sentence  was  read  aloud,  thus: — '  Thou, 
Caesar  Orobio,  art  condemned  to  die ! '  That  man  was 
my  father.  In  less  than  two  years,  he  had  become  an  old 
man,  through  suffering  and  grief. 

"  The  barbarians  would  not  allow  us  the  pleasure  of 
embracing  each  other  for  the  last  time.  He  was  con- 
ducted and  tied  to  the  stake,  and  there  he  cried  in  a  loud 
voice  : — '  I  merit  death,  because  I  have,  against  the  voice 
of  my  conscience,  forsaken  the  faith  of  my  fathers.  I  am 
a  Jew  ;  and  I  die  beheving  in  the  Jewish  faith.  May 
the  Almighty  pardon  me  !  And  thou,  my  son,  do  not^or- 
get  that  the  religion  of  Moses  is  the  only  true  one,  and 
mayst  thou  return  to  it  some  day ! ' 

"  After  these  words,  the  smoke  chpked  his  utterance, 
and  hid  him  from  my  view. 


"  Conducted  into  a  convent,  I  remained  there  three 
months,  crazy,  and  when  I  regained  my  strength  and  in- 
telligence, I  formed  the  resolution  to  exert  my  utmost  en- 
deavors to  fly  to  a  foreign  land,  where  I  would  embrace 
the  religion  of  Moses  as  the  last  will  of  my  dying  father. 
I  had  the  appearance  of  submitting  to  my  lot ;  I  affected 
great  zeal  in  the  cause  in  which  I  was  engaged,  and,  at 
the  end  of  two  years  of  constraint,  I  was  charged  to  col- 
lect alms  in  the  city  for  our  convent.  During  several 
weeks  I  prepared  for  my  escape,  and,  at  last,  one  morn- 
ing, I  was  fortunate  enough  to  fly  from  Madrid  in  a  se- 
cular habit.  I  took  the  road  to  Portugal,  and  after  a 
long  and  fatiguing  march,  in  which  I  was  burnt  by  the 
sun,  and  devoured  by  thirst  and  dust,  I  arrived  at  Lisbon. 

"The  Inquisition  was  so  powerful  in  this  city  that  I 
had  not  the  coiu'age  to  stop  long.  I  found  some  relations 
of  my  family,  and  they  gave  me  enough  money  to  embark 
for  England.  We  were  on  the  deck  discoursing  with  the 
sailors  and  passengers,  when  the  conversation  turned  on 


A   TALE   OF   THE   INQUISITION.  67 

religion.  I  declared  that  I  was  a  Jew.  I  was  now  re- 
garded with  an  evil  eye,  and  was  no  more  questioned. 

"  But  the  next  day  we  were  assailed  by  a  violent  tem- 
pest, and  the  mutinous  sailors  declared  that  there  was  a 
Jew  on  board,  and  that  I  was  the  cause  of  the  tempest, 
which  every  moment  threatened  to  submerge  our  vessel. 
The  captain  and  some  passengers  greatly  remonstrated. 
The  squall  became  stronger,  the  foaming  waves  rose  high- 
er, and  the  thunder  rolled  with  more  violence.  The  sail- 
ors insisted  anew,  that,  as  there  was  a  Jew  on  board,  they 
had  no  hope  of  safety  ;  and,  notwithstanding  my  pray- 
ers and  my  o£fers,  they  seized  me,  and  cast  me  into  the 
sea.  Luckily,  the  captain  threw  me  a  hencoop,  to  which 
I  clung  with  energy.  After  some  hours  of  a  terrible  strug- 
gle and  horrible  agony,  I  commended  my  soul  to  the  God 
of  fcael,  and  I  thought  that  my  end  had  arrived. 

"  On  my  revival,  I  found  myself  lying  in  a  good  ham- 
mock. I  was  dry  and  warm,  but  weak.  A  fly  boat  had 
rescued  me,  and  I  recognized  the  finger  of  Providence 
when  I  learnt  that  the  Portuguese  ship,  whose  crew  had 
treated  me  in  so  inhuman  a  manner,  had  perished,  with- 
out one  of  all  those  who  manned  her  being  left  to  tell 
the  tale. 

"  I  landed,  fortunately,  in  Holland,  and  it  is  a  month 
since  I  came  to  Amsterdam,  where  I  propose,  first,  to 
become  an  Israelite,  and  then  to  exercise  the  profession 
of  physician.  I  have  been  happy  enough  to  show  you, 
by  the  recital  of  my  misfortunes,  that  violence  is  a  dan- 
gerous auxihary  for  rehgion,  and  that  we  Israelites  ought 
to  interdict  all  species  of  religious  tyranny,  in  thinking 
of  the  evils  which  fanaticism  has  caused  to  fall  on  us." 

The  good  innkeeper  now  announced  that  his  wife  had 
taken  the  medicine  prescribed  by  the  doctor,  and  had  re- 
covered. Van  Khef,  pleased  with  his  success,  offered  him 
pay,  which,  however,  he  refused,  and  the  auditors,  pitying 
him  for  his  misfortunes,  forebore  to  speak  in  reference  to 
his  somewhat  rude  interruption  of  their  previous  discus- 
sion. As  the  night  was  dark,  they  led  him  to  his  home, 
in  order  that  he  might  not  fall  into  one  of  the  numerous 
canals,  which  intersect  the  goodly  city  of  Amsterdam. 

Don  Balthazar  Orobio  became  a  Jew,  and  exercised 
with  honor  his  profession  as  a  physician. 


68  A  TALE   or  THE   INQUISITION. 

He  also  distinguished  himself  by  his  beneficence  to- 
wards the  poor  of  all  sects,  and  by  the  Hberality  of  his 
religious  sentiments. 

He  died  in  Amsterdam,  in  1687,  beloved,  esteemed  and 
regretted  by  alL 


RACHEL'S  SLEIGH  RIDE. 


RACHEL'S  SLEIGH  RIDE 

A  STOKY  FOR  "CHANUCKA." 


-XX>^<X>o- 


A  pleasant  evening  at  Mr.  Mendoza's  elegant  brown 
stone,  $50,000  mansion  on  the  avenue.  A  cheering  fire 
nestling  in  the  capacious  grate  ;  Mendoza,  enveloped  in 
his  well-lined  dressing-gown,  comfortably  ensconced  in  his 
new  chair, — which  Sarah  Mendoza  had  surprised  him  with 
last  New  Year's — his  gouty  feet  encased  in  warm  slippers, 
and  perched  on  the  fender,  and  his  spectacled  eyes  greed- 
ily absorbing  the  remarks  of  the  evening  paper  upon  the 
late  "  fall  in  gold."  What  cared  he  for  the  snow  and 
wind  without,  for  the  cold  and  misery  of  the  wintry 
blast,  the  wretchedness  of  the  poor  boy  who  had  but  a 
moment  ago  timidly  tapped  at  the  basement-door,  and 
asked  for  a  little  food,  only  to  "  keep  out  the  cold  ?  "  He 
was  comfortable  and  warm — why  should  others  be  cold  ? 
And  if  they  were  hungry  and  poor — was  that  his  fault  ? 
The  world  is  a  "  raffle  ; "  there  are  "  numbers  "  for  all, 
but  every  speculator  can  not  expect  to  draw  a  prize.  He 
belonged  to  the  lucky  ones  ;  had  money,  house,  banker's 
office,  a  seat  in  synagogue  near  the  pulpit,  a  plot  in  the 
cemetery — centrally  located, — he  was  a  director  in  the 
Hospital,  belonged  to  the  "  club,"  had  a  wife,  who  was  a 
prominent  member  of  four  ladies'  societies,  a  daughter 
who  excelled  all  her  coterie  in  beauty  and  taste.  Why 
should  he  care,  then,  if  there  were  some  people  in  the 


72  Rachel's  sleigh  bidk 

city  less  fortunate  than  lie,  compelled  to  dress  in  cast-off 
garments,  to  sit  among  the  "poor  worshippers,"  to  be 
buried  by  the  Charitable  Interment  Society,  who  lived  on 
the  sixth  floor  of  a  wretched  tenement-house  in  Baxter 
Street,  peddled  matches,  begged  for  a  half-ton  of  a  coal 
from  the  Give-a-Httle-to-the-Poor  Association,  and  had 
large  famihes  crying  for  bread  ? 

So  thought  this  Mr.  Mendoza,  who  was  "universally 
considered  one  of  the  first  and  finest  gentlemen  of  the 
Hebrew  persuasion  in  the  City  of  New  York."  As  he 
laughingly  said  one  day  to  a  member  of  the  brokers* 
board,  he  "never  could  understand  why  these  poor  peo- 
ple have  such  large  famihes.  It  seems,  the  poorer  a  man 
becomes,  the  more  pleasure  he  feels  in  seeing  a  dozen 
ragged  children  crying  about  him,  and  calling  him  *  fath- 
er.' Children  ought  to  be  taxed,  and  then  their  number 
would  be  speedily  reduced."  Mendoza  was  a  hvely  fel- 
low, when  he  felt  in  the  humor  ;  but  the  humor  was 
seldom  on  him,  except  when  any  extraordinary  streak 
of  luck  made  him  pecuharly  jovial.  What  little  pleasant- 
ness he  did  have,  however,  was  reserved  for  his  business 
acquaintances  and  the  members  of  the  Brokers'  Board. 
At  home,  he  was  exceedingly  austere  and  cold. 

Raphael  Mendoza  was  a  pecuHar  man,  and  he  was  es- 
pecially eccentric  in  his  ideas  of  Judaism.  At  the  time 
when  the  Insurance  Companies  made  such  an  outcry 
against  "Jew  risks,"  he  did  not — nor  could  not — see 
the  necessity  of  his  co-rehgionists  taking  any  active 
agency  in  removing  the  obnoxious  clause  fi*om  the  circu- 
lar of  the  Underwriters.  He  felt  that  he  was  not  in- 
cluded by  the  officials  in  their  definition  of  "  Jew  Risks," 
or  "  Hebrew  traders  ; "  they  knew  him  too  well,  to  sup- 
pose that  he  would  ever  be  tempted  to  burn  his  office  or 
dwelling,  for  the  sake  of  the  insurance  money  ;  they 
were  always  so  friendly  with  him,  had  wined  with  him  at 
his  house,  and  dined  with  him  at  Crook's.  And  why 
should  he  take  upon  himself  others*  troubles,  even  if  they 
did  worship  in  the  same  language  as  he  occasionally 
deemed  it  proper  to  do  ?  Mendoza  had  this  fault,  among 
many  others,  that  he  would  not  identify  himself  with 
Israel  as  a  people  ;  he  was  averse  to  their  distinctiveness 
as  a  sect    He  expressed  himself  in  favor  of  breaking 


eachel's  sleigh  eide.  73 

down  all  the  barriers  that  lay  between  his  and  the  domi- 
nant faith.  Even  that  day,  he  had  peremptorily  dechned 
a  request  made  by  some  of  his  Jewish  relatives  and 
friends,  to  serve  as  one  of  the  committee  in  charge  of  a 
ball  in  aid  of  an  "Israehte  Benevolent  Society,"  on  the 
ground  that  it  was  too  sectarian  in  its  objects ;  but  he 
had,  with  the  same  pen,  graciously  accepted  the  position 
of  one  of  the  board  of  fifty  managers,  who  intended  to 
hold  a  fair  in  aid  of  a  *'  Roman  Catholic  Mission  School," 
whose  object  was  to  disseminate  the  principles  of  the  Holy 
Cathohc  rehgion !     This  was  Mendoza's  liberahsm  ! 

But  to  my  story. 

It  was  just  at  the  time  that  Mr.  Mendoza  was  reading 
the  financial  reports,  and  was  regarding  with  anxiety  the 
depression  in  the  market,  when  his  wife — a  portly,  digni- 
fied woman,  about  forty  years  old — entered  the  room, 
and  attracted  her  husband's  attention.  She  was  evident- 
ly annoyed  at  something;  so  much  so,  that  Mendoza 
folded  his  paper,  took  off  his  spectacles,  and  asked  her, 
"  What's  the  matter,  Sarah  ?     Anything  gone  wrong  ?  " 

"  Everything  is  wrong,  Raphael,"  said  Mrs.  Mendoza. 
"  Jenny  tells  me  that  Joseph  Lazarus  was  here  this  after- 
noon, in  a  sleigh,  left  a  letter  for  you,  and  took  our 
Rachel  out  for  a  ride,  and  she  has  not  yet  returned." 

"  Young  Lazarus,  again  ?  Didn't  I  tell  Rachel  posi- 
tively to  forbid  him  the  house  ?  You  know  I  don't  Uke 
to  speak  so  myself ;  but  the  girl  should  have  told  him. 
Where  were  you,  not  to  prevent  her  leaving  her  home  ?  " 

"  I  was  out  shopping  till  five,  and  then  I  was  compell- 
ed to  attend  a  meeting  of  the  "  Children's  Aid  Society," 
at  Mrs.  Belknap's.  It's  too  bad.  They  will  be  seen 
riding  together — and  what  will  our  friends  say?  And 
besides  I  expected  the  Montmorencys  here  to-night — 
George  with  them,  who  has  just  returned  from  Europe, 
and  who  thinks  so  much  of  Rachel.  But  read  the  letter, 
and  tell  me  what  it  contains." 

The  letter  was  simply  a  brief  note  from  young  Lazarus' 
parents,  inviting  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Mendoza  to  spend  the 
evening  with  them,  in  "  good  old  Hanucka  style,"  hoping 
that  their  early  acquaintance,  and  the  promise  of  an 
enjoyable  evening,  would  induce  Mr.  and  Mrs.  M.  to 
accept  their  invitation. 
1 


74 


EACHZL  8   SLEIGH   BEDE. 


"  Sarah,  this  thing  must  stop.  It's  getting  tmbearable, 
that  this  Lazarus  must  ever  remind  me  of  my* hateful 
*  eaiiy  acquaintance '  with  him,  and  his  desire  to  be 
fiiendly  as  of  old.  My  position  in  society  demands  that 
I  must  give  up  Jewish  intimates  one  by  one, — Lazarus, 
especially,  as  he  is  so  infernally  pious,  and  fond  of  old- 
time  ceremonies.  Mendoza,  the  banker,  must  not  asso- 
ciate with  the  ex-clothing  dealer,  the  Jew  Lazarus.  Go 
to  his  house  to-night !  Enjoy  his  'Hanucka  ! '  I'll  write 
to  him  at  once,  cutting  Ins  acquaintance,  ond  advising 
him  to  explain  to  his  son  how  that  it  wiU  be  impossible  for 
him  to  continue  visiting  my  daughter." 

"  I  fear  our  great  trouble  will  be  with  Rachel,"  said 
Mrs.  Mendoza.  "  She  could  never  endure  a  separation 
from  the  Lazaruses.  Every  day  in  the  week  she  is  with 
them,  so  that  it  is  almost  her  home." 

"I  can't  help  it;  her  intimacy  must  cease,  and  at 
once." 

The  unpleasant  interview  was  terminated  by  the  en- 
trance of  the  footman,  who  announced  the  amval  of 
the  Montmorencys. 

n. 

Joseph  Lazams  had  known  Rachel  Mendoza  from 
childhood.  They  had  always  been  to  each  other  as 
brother  and  sister.  Of  late,  however,  Joseph,  perceiving 
the  growing  coohiess  of  the  elder  Mendozas,  felt  that 
soon  her  position  towards  him  would  be  materially 
changed.  He  had  heard  rumors  of  a  favored  suitor  call- 
ing frequently  at  the  house,  and  he  feared  the  worst. 
Rachel,  too,  noticed  that  Lazarus  was  occasionally  given 
to  moments  of  abstraction  and  moodiness,  but  she  could 
not  divine  the  cause. 

That  afternoon  Lazarus  called  for  her  in  a  sleigh,  and 
she  gladly  accepted  his  invitation  to  a  drive  through  the 
park.  It  was  cheering,  clear  weather.  The  snow  lay  a 
foot  deep,  the  wind  was  not  impleasantly  sharp,  and  the 
drive  was  agreeable — at  least  to  Rachel.  Lazarus  was 
rather  dull  at  times.  It  was  only  on  the  return-drive, 
as  the  stars  appeared,  and  the  noise  of  the  city  grew  still, 
and  the  sleigh  jingled  merrily   over  the  smooth    Park 


kachel's  sleigh  ride.  'J  5 

road,  that  his  spirits  arose,  and  his  old  merriment  came 
upon  him.  Some  unaccountable  desire  to  speak  his 
mind,  a  consciousness  that  this  would  be  a  favorable,  as 
weU  as  the  last  opportunity,  startled  him  from  his  usual 
mood ;  and  as,  for  a  while,  Rachel  sat  quiet,  and  the 
horses  trotted  swiftly  across  the  snow,  the  jingling  of  the 
bells  seemed  to  have  for  him  a  pecuhar  significance. 
He  no  longer  heard  their  "  Jingle,  jingle,  jingle,"  but  it 
was  a  repeated  "  Tell  her,  Joe  ! "  "  Now's  your  time ! " 
"  Take  her,  Joe ! " — and  he  did  speak ;  and  right  elo- 
quently, too,  for  he  spoke  truly  and  honestly,  which  is 
the  height  of  eloquence.  How  breathlessly  he  listened 
for  her  reply  ;  how  cunningly  he  checked  the  speed  of 
the  horses,  for  he  saw  by  the  street-lamps  that  he  was 
nearing  her  home ;  and  how  fondly  he  kissed  her  when 
her  lips  utterfed  responsively,  "  I  have  always  loved  you, 
Joseph ! " 

Leave  her  at  her  own  house,  after  that  answer,  he 
would  not !  She  must  drive  to  his  ;  to  his  dear  father's 
and  devoted  mother's  and  fond  sisters',  who  all  loved  her 
better  than  even  her  parents  did,  and  to  whom  she  was  now 
so  much  the  dearer.  And  when  the  sleigh  stopped  at 
the  house  of  the  Lazaruses  in  Tenth  Street,  and  Joseph 
hfted  out  his  dear  burden,  and  rang  the  beU,  and  with 
mock  gravity  introduced  her  to  the  family,  who  were 
expecting  him  for  supper,  as  "Mrs.  Lazarus,  Jr.,"  the 
general  joy  knew  no  bounds,  but  the  Lazaiiises  deemed 
themselves  and  Eachel  the  happiest  people  on  earth. 
And  by  the  time  the  general  congratulations  ceased, 
Joseph  had  returned  the  sleigh  to  the  stable,  and  the 
family  sat  down  to  their  Chanucka  supper. 

And  there  was  a  supper !  Such  fish  had  never  been 
fried  or  stewed  before.  The  tea  and  the  cream,  and  the 
sweet,  white  bread,  not  to  forget  the  jeUy  and  the  her- 
rings, and  the  cake,  were  never  on  better  behavior,  nor 
more  acceptable  to  the  hearty,  healthy  appetites  of  the 
happy  ten,  gathered  around  the  festive  board.  And  after 
supper  there  was  a  repetition  of  the  congratulatory  scene, 
the  story  of  the  eventful  ride  was  told  agaiD,  and  Joseph 
must  of  course  kiss  his  Ma ;  and  sister  Judith  would 
have  been  mortally  oifended  if  he  had  not  treated  her  to 
a  like  token  of  his  brotherly  affection.     And  then  the 


V6  kachel's  sleigh  kide. 

young  ones  laughed  and  hugged  each  other,  and  told 
Mary  and  Bridget,  and  even  Sam,  the  butcher's  boy, 
who  called  to  know  what  meat  was  wanted  for  the  next 
day.  Only  Mr.  Lazarus  was  quiet,  for  a  few  minutes 
before  Bridget  had  handed  him  a  note,  which  was  left  at 
the  door,  and  which  seemed  to  give  him  pain.  It  was 
from  Raphael  Mendoza,  and  told  him  in  a  few,  cruel 
words,  that  theu*  acquaintance — it  could  hardly  be  call- 
ed friendship — was  at  an  end;  that  his  Joseph  must 
cease  his  visits,  and  pay  his  attentions  to  a  more  humble, 
— and,  Mendoza  hoped, — more  congenial  lady  than  Rach- 
el. Mr.  Lazarus  said  nothing  of  the  letter  to  those  pres- 
ent, but  pleaded  a  headache  as  his  excuse  for  not  joining 
in  their  amusements. 

Then  followed  the  merry  Chanucka  games.  The  table 
was  cleared  of  dishes  and  cloth,  a  huge  papfier  was  untied, 
and  candies  and  bonbons  innumerable  were  rolled  out 
upon  it.  A  cui'iously  marked  trendl  was  produced ;  and, 
as  each  of  the  company  spun  it  around,  the  happy  faces 
and  merry  laughter  of  all  betokened  the  joy  with  which 
the  "  old-time  ceremony  "  was  received.  And  when  the 
trendl  had  done  its  share  in  amusing  the  company,  the 
more  exciting  "  snap-dragon,"  in  which  every  one  was 
compelled  to  join — from  father  to  cook — was  hailed  with 
glee.  Then  succeeded  songs  and  refreshments,  and 
more  games,  and  finally  the  grand  old  Hanucka  hymn, 
until  midnight  put  an  end  to  the  festivities,  and  all 
sought  their  much  needed  repose.  Rachel  did  not  go  to 
her  house,  Judith  insisting  that  as  it  was  so  late  she 
could  not  do  better  than  to  spend  the  night  with  her. 

But  as  to  the  letter,  Mr.  Lazams  held  his  peace,  pre- 
ferring to  call  on  Mendoza  and  seek  an  explanation  be- 
fore acquainting  the  family  with  its  contents.  Mendoza 
and  he  arrived  in  New  York  in  the  same  ship,  thirty 
years  ago.  They  were  then  friendless  and  almost  penni- 
less. Together  they  shared  their  first  meal  and  bed; 
together  they  traveled  thi'ough  the  country,  seUing  petty 
wares  in  exchange  for  worn-out  clothing,  which  brought 
them  small  profits  on  their  return  to  the  city.  Together 
they  opened  a  small  store,  and  carried  on  the  humble, 
but  with  them  honest,  business  of  a  "  second-hand  cloth- 
ing shop."    They  prospered,  removed  to  a  better  local- 


Rachel's  sleigh  ride.  77 

ity,  bought  a  large  retail  establishment  on  Broadway, 
and  thrived  exceedingly  well.  Mendoza  married  a  wo- 
man of  high  notions,  a  dislike  for  the  clothing  business, 
and  a  peculiar  aversion  for  her  husband's  partner  and 
life-long  associations.  She  gradually  sowed  dissensions 
between  the  two,  so  that  they  dissolved  partnership  just 
twenty  years  after  their  arrival.  With  their  separation, 
Lazarus'  good  influence  was  lost  upon  Mendoza,  who 
had  ever  been  peculiar  in  his  rehgious  ideas,  and  who 
rapidly  grew  worse  and  worse,  until  his  Judaism  was  re- 
stricted to  a  seat  in  Synagogue,  w^hich  he  attended  but 
twice  a  year, — the  anniversary  of  his  father's  death  and 
Atonement  Day, — a  plot  in  the  cemetery,  and  a  member- 
ship in  a  few  societies.  He  became  a  speculator  also, 
opening  a  broker's  office,  diving  into  gold,  petroleum, 
and  anon  attacked  by  the  whiskey  mania. 

Lazarus  was  natiu'ally  sorry  to  have  received  such  a 
note  from  his  old  companion,  and  he  mentally  determin- 
ed, before  closing  his  eyes  in  sleep,  to  call  on  him  at  his 
office  in  the  morning,  and  seek  an  explanation,  and  also 
to  inform  him  of  his  son's  desire  to  marry  his  daughter 
Rachel. 

But  a  surprise  awaited  him  the  next  day.  On  reach- 
ing his  store  he  met  a  friend,- — Ostheim,  a  broker,  who 
asked  him  if  he  had  heard  the  news  ? 

"  "Wliat  news  ?  "  indifferently  asked  Lazarus. 

"  Of  Raphael  Mendoza's  failure  ?  "  answered  Ostheim. 

•*  Of  Raphael  Mendoza's  what?  "  repeated  Lazarus. 
'His  failure,  man.  You  know  he  speculated  largely 
in  gold  and  stocks  ;  the  firm  of  DooHttle,  Makeanoise  & 
Co.,  with  which  he  was  largely  interested,  has  suspend- 
ed ;  and  Mendoza  to-day  is  not  worth  ten  thousand 
doUars." 

Mr.  Lazarus  at  once  hurried  off  to  Mendoza's  office, 
V,  here  he  found  the  unfortunate  man  alone  in  his  misery. 
The  story  was  true.  The  once  wealthy  Mendoza  was  a 
bankrupt.  Nobly — as  a  true  friend  wiU  always  act — Mr. 
Lazarus  offered  Mendoza  the  use  of  his  purse  and  pres- 
ence. He  said  not  a  word  in  regard  to  the  letter  of  the 
previous  night.  Mr.  Mendoza,  in  broken  accents,  craved 
his  pardon  for  the  coldness  with  which  he  had  lately  treat- 
ed him,  and  thankfully  accepted  his  offer  of  assistance. 
7* 


78  RACHEL'S   SLEIGH    RIDE. 

The  failure  was  not  so  bad  as  at  first  reported.  Men- 
doza  is  by  no  means  a  poor  man  ;  but  the  lesson  was 
rich  in  its  teachings.  He  is  now  more  God-fearing  in 
his  ways ;  more  of  a  Jew  in  heart  as  well  as  in  actions; 
and  he  is  rapidly  becoming  respected  in  the  community. 

Joseph  and  Rachel  will  be  married  next  month.  And 
as  a  poetical  conclusion  to  my  story,  it  will  be  interesting 
to  note  that  Joseph  has  bought  the  sleigh  and  horses 
which  proved  so  effective  in  his  love-making. 


UNABLE    TO    DIE. 


UNABLE    TO    DIE. 


A  TALE  OF  THE  GHETTO. 


— --*-»^>jV\AOAr\JVUVVvv>.<~---" 


A  night  of  darkness,  a  night  of  gloom 
Hung  o'er  the  Ghetto,  and  silence  deep 
Held  sway ;  long  since  \Tithin  each  room 
The  taper  had  gone  out,  and'all  in  sleep 
Was  hush'd :  a  calm,  so  full,  so  deep, 
It  seemed  like  Death  much  more  than  sleep. 

The  clouds  in  volumes  roll'd, 

The  air  was  sharp  and  cold, 
And  no  wind  still ; 

When  sudden,  through  a  rift, 

In  the  dark  and  heavy  drift, 
Shone  the  moon  chill. 
*Twas  shown  so  suddenly,  so  suddenly  pall'd. 
That  resting  on  elbow  and  rubbing  his  eyes, 
The  Schulklopfer*  thought,  half  in  doubt  and  surprise, 
The  old  wooden  hammer  he  saw  gently  rise — 
The  hammer  with  which  he  to  synagogue  call'd, 
Morning  and  evening,  the  faithful  to  prayer — 
And  tap  on  the  wall  as  it  hung  ready  there. 

*'No  sleep,  not  a  wink,  for  that  hammer!  "  he  cries 
To  his  daughter,  who  also  had  heard  in  the  night 

•  Schtc/klopfer—nn  oflacial  of  a  congregation,  whose  duty  it  is  to  arouse  or 
■  knock  up  "  the  members  for  early  morning  service. 


82  UNABLE   TO    DIE. 

Those  strange  and  soft  blows ;  and,  sadden'd  her  eyes, 

Says  "One  of  our  neighbors,  alas!  surely  dies." 

And  then  her  poor  heart  a  prey  to  affright, 

" Schmah  Tisroel,"*  she  says,  "'tis  our  rabbi  who  dies ! 

At  that  moment  the  hammer  ceases  its  taps. 

But  without,  at  the  door,  some  one  hastily  raps, 

And  a  voice  is  soon  heard  there,  calling  aloud, 

"Up,  up,  and  away! 

Wake  the  people  and  say, 

They  must  rise  nor  delay 

From  Schule,t  for  at  day 
The  rabbi  shall  rest  in  his  funeral  shroud. 

Let  ThillimJ  be  said 

For  him  ere  he's  dead." 
Then,  through  the  stillness  of  the  night — 
At  day  a  sad  and  solemn  sight, 
But  now  how  mournful — at  each  door 
The  hammer  beats  its  three  short  blows 
So  well  known  to  all  inmates,  for 
The  life  that  comes  as  quickly  goes  j 
Yes,  life's  a  tide  that  ebbs  and  flows. 

Her  breast  the  Schulklopfer's  daughter  beats 
As  she  stands,  all  chill'd  with  bated  breath, 
To  hear  her  father  tramp,  tramp  the  streets, 
And  warn  each  house  of  the  coming  death. 
To  her  each  blow  seems  a  pulse's  beat 

Of  the  dying  man,  and  when 
The  last  one  sounds  in  the  gloomy  street 

"Which  is  now  alive  with  men ; 
"  Woe's  me,"  she  cries,  "the  rabbi's  dead, 

He  died  with  that  last  stroke," 
And  tears  unbidden  fill  her  eyes, 

And  she  weeps  as  her  heart  were  broke. 
But  the  sacred  words  of  the  Thillim  restrain 

The  rabbi's  soul  from  its  flight, 
And  death  flies  hovering  round  in  vain 

To  claim  his  prey  that  night. 

•  Schmah  Tisroel—''  Hear,  O  IsraeL*' 
t  Schule — synagogue. 
t  Thillim— -paahsxB. 


UNABLE   TO    DIE.  83 

The  rabbi  lives  when  the  morning  dawns, 
But  worse  and  worse  each  moment  grows. 
His  Boch'rim*  roxuid  his  bedside  stand, 
They  beat  the  breast,  they  clasp  the  hand. 
Each  throbbing  heart  in  silence  mourns. 
Though  plain  each  eye  its  sorrow  shows. 

Some  wax  they  take, 

A  wick  then  make, 
And  measuring  the  body  from  the  foot  to  the  head, 

"With  this  as  a  guide, 

Soon  they  form  by  his  side 
A  taper  as  large  as  the  poor  shape  on  the  bed. 
And  this  taper  they  clothe  in  a  winding  sheet, 
To  the  beschoyimf  bear  with  trembling  feet, 
And  bury  it  there  as  they  bury  the  dead. 

But  their  efforts  are  vain. 

Too  soon  will  the  same 
Sad  fate  be  meted  to  the  rabbi ;  they  fear 
They  must  measure,  in  turn,  the  six  planks  for  his  bier. 
*'  Oh!  just,  powerful  God,"  the  grieving  Boch'rim  cry, 
*' Reveal,  in  thy  mercy,  what  else  we  must  try 
To  save  him  a  while  yet.     Oh !  let  him  not  die ! " 

And  at  length,  how  they  start, 

With  rejoicing  at  heart, 

"When  a  Bocher  replies, 

With  glad  hopes  in  his  eyes, 
*'  Come  gamer  for  him ;  let  us  gather  some  years, 
And  perchance  the  good  God  wiU  hark  to  our  pray'rs." 

Then  one  sallies  forth  with  a  paper  in  hand, 

At  the  door  of  each  house  in  turn  takes  his  stand ; 

And  the  people  inscribe  the  years,  months,  days  they  give 

Of  their  own  mortal  lives  that  the  rabbi  may  live. 

By  her  door  stood  the  Schulklopfer's  daughter  to  hear 

When  the  Bocher  pass'd  by  on  his  holy  mission. 

He  said,  "For  the  rabbi  will  you  not  give  your  share ? " 

*' Yes,  life,  my  whole  life,  with  kind  heaven's  permission; 

All,  all,"  with  a  sob,  "though  I  give  from  to-day." 

"  And  shall  I  write  that ?  "     "  Write,  write,  no  delay." 

And  the  Bocher  inscribed  the  whole  life  of  Hannel^. 

Boch^rim — student?,  or  followers.       t  Beschoyim — cemetery, 


84  UNABLE   TO   DIE. 

From  that  moment  the  rabbi's  health  was  restored, 
For  the  pray'rs  of  the  Boeh'rim  were  heard  by  the  LokI  ; 
But  one  life  was  shorter, 
One  grave  open'd  there. 

For  the  Schulklopfer's  daughter 

Lay  dead  on  her  bier. 
And  as  much  as  the  girl  had  surrender'd  of  life, 
So  much  was  the  rabbi  compell'd  to  support ; 
Ah !  little  he  reck'd  of  the  toil  and  the  strife, 
And  Uttle  the  struggles  to  be  breasted  and  fought. 
Full  joyous,  good-humored,  he  felt  at  the  start. 
And  flourish'd  again  as  he  flourish'd  of  old. 
But  soon  a  sad  change  crept  over  his  heart, 
And  his  sorrowing  looks  secret  troubles  foretold. 

To  none  was  it  known 

How  that  once  till  alone, 
The  rabbi,  one  evening,  while  plunged  deep  in  thought. 

Back  reclining  at  his  ease. 

His  Gemara*  on  his  knees, 
Heaxd  a  sweet  chant  ascend  from  below  in  the  court. 
And  each  time  that  he  open'd  the  lattice  he  saw 
Before  him  a  maid,  young  and  fair  to  the  sight. 
Whose  looks  through  the  veil  of  the  deep  shadows  bore 
The  gay,  happy  smiles  which  death  froze  in  his  flight. 
"Now,  alas!  "  cried  the  rabbi,  "she  might  have  been  free, 
Might  have  sung  the  long  day  like  the  bird  in  the  air," 
And  in  the  quiet  of  night  fell  his  tears  silently. 
Fell  his  tears  on  the  Gemara  as  it  lay  open  there. 
And  once,  towards  midnight,  were  heard  to  arise, 
Around  the  whole  house  of  anguish  loud  cries, 
And  soon  after  that,  such  sobs,  short  and  wild. 
As  are  utter'd,  at  birth,  by  the  newly-born  child. 
Thus  the  rabbi.     "Unhappy,  oh!  unhappy  the  day. 
'Tis  I,  I  alone  who  this  joy  stole  away." 

Each  night  he  hears  a  childish  cry, 

And  songs,  celestial  in  their  sweep, 

Such  as  mothers  at  the  cradle  try 

When  restless  babies  they  lull  to  sleep. 

But  not  to  him  they  brought  repose, 

•  Oemara— the  oral  law  and  commentaries. 


UNABLE  TO   DIE.  86 

Ah !  not  to  him  they  brought  relief, 

Each  song  in  turn  renewed  his  woes, 

And  found  response  in  tears  and  grief. 

A  hearth  made  desolate  by  him, 

A  girl  cut  off  within  her  prime. 

He  felt  how  great  had  been  his  sin, 

He  long'd  but  to  recall  his  crime. 

Six  times  arose  those  sounds  of  pain, 

The  new-bom  infant's  wail  six  times, 

And  then  those  tender  songs  again. 

Mingled  with  plaintive  and  pleasant  rhymes. 
Then  came  a  silence  which  was  deep  and  long, 
Unbroken  by  cry,  by  laugh,  or  by  song ; 
And  the  rabbi  mused  in  these  long,  long  years. 
And  enacted  the  life  of  the  girl  the  day  long, 
And  sweet  though  the  vision,  full  bitter  his  tears. 
All  ashes  the  heart,  though  the  spirit  seem'd  strong. 

First  Hanneld  stood  as  the  blooming  bride, 
Her  husband,  a  strong  and  kindly  man, 
Came  loving,  guarding  by  her  side. 
And  the  woman  s  life  in  earnest  began. 

The  morning  meal,  ere  work  begun. 
Her  husband  to  his  work  depart. 
He  saw  each  day  both  fought  and  won. 
He  saw  the  bliss  that  fill'd  her  heart. 

Day  after  day  the  kindly  greeting. 
The  welcome  work,  the  household  care  ; 
At  last,  a  child  their  joy  completing, 
What  other  pleasure  wish'd  they  there  ? 

And  oh !  that  infant's  look  and  dress. 
Sure  never  child  was  half  so  fair  : 
"What  words  can  mother's  joy  express, 
,  Or  paint  the  pride  of  father's  air. 

The  boy  grows  up,  and  other  faces 
In  turn  appear  upon  the  scene, 
He  sees  the  sixth  child  born,  and  traces 
Nothing  but  peace  within  his  dream. 


86  UNABLE  TO   DIE. 

Nothing  but  peace,  and  love,  and  joja 
Such  as  pure  nuptials  ever  give. 
Ah !  such  as  these  time  ne'er  destroys 
While  hearts  beat  true  and  virtues  live. 

But  hark  to  the  sound,  again  and  again. 

The  joyous  peals  of  laughter  as  of  yore, 

The  songs  of  jubilation,  the  music's  merry  strain, 

The  greeting  and  the  welcome  at  the  door. 

**  'Tis  the  JBarmitzvah,"*  cries  the  rabbi,  *'of  her  boy," 

And  fuU  sadly  fell  his  head  on  his  breast. 

He  felt  in  his  soul  that  also  this  joy 

He  had  kill'd  as  he  had  kill'd  all  the  rest 

And  a  silence  lasting  long  came  once  mora 

Years  after,  came  the  merry-making  song, 
Said  the  rabbi  *'  To  the  Choupet  she  is  leading 
Her  son ;  ah !  who  shall  know  all  the  wrong 
I  have  done,  so  much  all  others  exceeding." 

Whene'er  the  voice  appears 

Never  sound  of  woe  or  tears, 
But  songs  of  pleasure,  both  sweet  and  unalloy'd ; 

*'  A  happy  mother  had  she  been 

But  for  my  folly  and  my  sin. 
Yes,  'tis  I  who  her  happiness  destroy'd." 
And  so  the  rabbi  lived  the  young  and  joyous  life 
Of  the  girl  who  had  died  Ms  death  to  stay. 
How  dearly  did  he  long,  but  to  hear  one  word  of  strife 
For  the  songs  which  came  welling  up  each  day. 

But  his  wish,  ungranted  goes, 

Not  one  mournful  sound  arose. 
His  tears  to  the  Gemara  force  their  way ; 

*'  What !  "  cried  he  with  a  groan, 

*'  Had  she  naught  but  pleasure  known  ?" 
And  he  long'd  to  be  blotted  from  the  earth  ;  «* 

For  let  him  whereso  go 

He  heard  these  songs  of  woe. 
These  songs  which  were  daily  in  their  mirth. 

*  ^armiteraA— admiseioc  of  the  lad  into  the  congregation,  on  his  attaining 
his  thirteenth  year. 

t  C%oup6— canopy  held  over  bride  and  groom  at  the  wedding  ceremony. 


UNABLE  TO   DIE.  87 

But  decrepit  and  old,  even  death  was  denied, 
He  lived  wearily,  lamenting  his  doom  ; 
Long  since  had  his  friends,  near  relations  all  died. 
And  had  sought  sweet  repose  in  the  tomb. 

So  that  he  could  find, 

Amongst  those  left  behind. 
But  a  few  he'd  gebenscht*  in  their  pride, 

Who,  now  aged  and  grim, 

Weak,  tott'ring  and  thin, 
Death  in  vain,  with  their  crutches  defied, 
For  despite  their  defiance  they  died. 

Deserted  and  weary, 

Life  void,  sad  and  dreary, 
He  stood  'midst  his  people  a  poor  wreck  of  time 

Heart  and  soul  deep  opprest, 

How  he  long'd  but  to  rest 
By  her  who  had  perish'd  for  him  in  her  prime. 
How  eager  he  ask'd  "Oh!  tell  me,  I  pray. 
Poor  maiden  betray'd,  when  comes  that  release  ; 
How  long  yet  you'll  live,  how  distant  the  day 
When  God,  in  His  mercy,  shall  grant  me  such  peace  ?  " 
Then  once,  towards  midnight,  with  the  moon  on  his  face. 
He  heard  a  low  wail  like  the  cry  of  the  dying ; 
"  She  is  dead,  she  is  dead,  praised  be  God  for  this  grace." 
And  where  they  had  left  him  the  night  before,  there, 

Full  early  the  morrow. 

With  weeping  and  sorrow. 
His  Boch'rim  discover'd  him  dead  in  his  chair. 
Whilst  on  the  Gemara  his  white  head  was  lying. 

*  &«&enscA^blessed. 


THE  TEPHILII. 


8* 


THE  TEPHILIN. 


AN  HUNGARIAN  COUNTRY  TALE. 


— — "^s^NAAAAAAAfVWVw^— — 


Whoever  has  the  misfortune  to  travel  in  the  passes  of 
the  Basca,  might  indeed  find  himself  in  an  embarrassing 
situation  if  he  were  left  to  his  choice  whether  to  travel 
when  it  rains,  or  when  the  ground  is  frozen  hard. 
During  a  rain,  or  immediately  after,  one  can  rarely  es- 
timate the  duration  of  his  journey  even  if  he  is  going  to 
the  nearest  village.  As  often  as  your  horse  digs  his 
hoof  into  the  soft  yielding  mud,  it  requires  a  double 
horse  power  to  draw  him  out  again.  In  general  this 
new  horse  power  is  urged  on  by  the  coachman's  whip, 
which  never  ceases  its  flagellations  ;  and,  when  the  whip 
cord  becomes  no  longer  serviceable,  then  the  handle 
must  be  brought  into  play. 

On  the  other  hand,  when  it  freezes,  the  disagreeable- 
ness  of  travelling  in  the  mud  is  set  off  by  the  dangers 
of  a  sHppery  road.  After  riding  over  such  an  ice-bound 
street,  nothing  but  a  rather  rickety  woman  could  be 
formed  out  of  a  man's  rib. 

In  the  year  1854,  in  the  midst  of  winter,  business  en- 
gagements brought  me  to  this  neighborhood.  The  cold 
was  intense,  and  the  streets  were  all  frozen.  It  was  only 
in  the  morning,  after  a  long  night's  rest,  that  I  could  teU 
whether  my  bones  were  yet  unbroken  by  the  many  faUs 
of  the  day  before,  and  that  I  could  thank  heaven  for 


92  THK    TEPHILIN. 

sparing  me  any  misfortune.  However,  wliat  I  was  daily 
in  fear  of,  at  last  actually  came  to  pass.  I  had  occasion 
to  employ  a  wagon  ;  we  had  scarcely  started,  when  the 
wheel  suddenly  struck  a  rock,  and,  breaking,  the  wagon 
overturned,  and  I  was  unceremoniously  thrown  out.  I 
fell  between  two  frozen  lumps  of  ice,  and,  in  vain,  strove 
to  extricate  myself,  ^\^lether  the  pain  I  felt  was  caused 
by  my  fall,  or  by  the  previous  josthng  of  the  wagon,  I 
was  then  unable  to  say.  My  coachman,  who  came  out 
of  the  affair  lucky  enough  only  to  have  had  his  finger 
broken,  his  head  wounded,  and  a  leg  badly  injured,  be- 
gan to  cry  out  ;  and  I,  having  notiiing  better  to  do, 
followed  suit  in  my  topmost  pitch.  Luckily  the  village 
was  near,  and  our  cries  brought  out  a  few  peasants,  who 
carried  us  indoors  after  considerable  trouble.  The 
building  was  w^hat  they  call  an  inn.  They  placed  me  in 
a  pretty  large  room  which  contained  two  beds,  a  chest, 
a  long  table  and  some  benches.  It  was  both  the  recep- 
tion and  bed  room  of  the  host.  Near  by  was  a  smaller 
room,  which  characterized  the  business  part  of  the  build- 
ing. But  the  host  assui'ed  me  that,  since  the  existence 
of  the  town  council,  not  a  soul  had  remained  there  over 
night ;  for  this  reason,  we  were,  as  is  usually  expressed 
in  advertisements  regarding  steamboat  berths,  surround- 
ed with  every  comfort.  He  offered  me  one  of  the  beds, 
which  was  well  bolstered,  whilst  he  retained  the  other  ; 
an  arrangement  which  I  accepted,  especially  as  I  couldn't 
very  well  help  myself.  And,  as  the  accommodations  of 
the  establishment  extended  no  fui'ther,  my  coachman 
was  lodged  with  a  neighboring  farmer. 

I  suffered  agonizing  pains,  especially  in  my  left  leg. 
The  clothes  had  to  be  cut  away  in  order  to  get  them  off. 
A  maid  w^as  despatched  to  the  house  of  the  village  priest, 
who  lay  sick  in  bed  and  whom  the  physician  attended 
daily.  It  happened  luckily  that  the  girl  met  the  physi- 
cian, and,  after  the  lapse  of  not  more  than  an  hour,  the 
doctor  was  at  my  bedside.  He  examined  me  carefully 
and  gave  me  the  joyful  assurance  that,  by  keeping  very 
quiet,  I  would  be  able  at  the  end  of  six  or  eight  weeks  to 
get-  quite  well.  The  doctor  ruled  as  impracticable  my 
desire  to  be  put  in  more  comfortable  quai'ters,  inasmuch 
as  the  \illage  contained  no  better,  and  it  would  have 


THE   TEPHILIN.  93 

been  dangerous  to  move  me.  He,  however,  promised  to 
send  me  a  competent  nurse  and  to  visit  me  daily,  in  both 
of  which  respects  he  faithfully  kept  his  word, 

In  this  way  I  dragged  out  three  weeks  of  pain,  al- 
though, in  the  interval,  I  had  a  very  entertaining  com- 
panion in  the  person  of  my  host,  commonly  called  Squire 
Mathis.  He  was  very  kind  and  attentive.  He  manifest- 
ed an  interest  and  sympathy  for  me  w^hich  I  scarce  ex- 
pected to  find  in  a  farmer's  hut.  As  soon  as  the  physi- 
cian deemed  it  admissible  to  move  me,  he  told  me  that 
if  I  desired  he  would  take  me  to  his  own  house,  about 
a  mile  distant.  I  readily  consented.  Four  peasants 
came  after  me,  and,  carefully  stretched  on  a  litter,  I  was 
borne  to  my  new  home.  This  arrangement  gave  me  en- 
tire satisfaction,  as  I  was  about  to  receive  more  comfor- 
table quarters,  and  my  physician  was  a  co-religionist — 
an  Israehte. 

It  was  the  day  before  I  changed  my  residence,  about 
one  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  ;  my  nurse  was  busy  in  the 
kitchen,  and  Mathis  was  seated  at  my  bedside,  watching 
the  slightest  movement  I  should  make  in  order  that  he 
might  immediately  respond  to  my  wants,  should  I  call 
for  anything.  Suddenly,  the  door  opened,  a  stranger 
appeared  at  the  threshold.  He  had  the  features  of  an 
Israelite.  He  entered,  and,  after  a  respectful  salutation, 
inquired  whether  Squire  Mathis  hved  there. 

"  I  am  he,"  rephed  my  host,  "  what  is  it  ?  " 

The  Jew  thereupon  took  from  his  coat  pocket  a  small 
worn  out  green  bag  which  contained  a  set  of  Tephilin, 
(phylacteries)  and,  without  saying  a  word,  handed  to  my 
host. 

Scarcely  did  he  obtain  sight  of  them  that  he  sprang 
from  his  seat  and  uttered  a  joyful  exclamation.  He 
eagerly  seized  the  bag  from  the  stranger  and  pressed  it 
to  his  bosom  ;  two  large  tear  drops  trembled  on  his  eye- 
lids. 

"  What  have  you  to  say  to  me ! "  inquired  Mathis, 
handing  the  tephilin  back   again  to  the  stranger. 

"  I  am  to  tell  you  much  of  good  and  pleasantness.- 
Matters  are  going  on  well,  and,  if  possible,  I  am  to  bring 
back  a  thousand  dollars." 

"  Where  ?  "  inquired  Mathis. 


94  THE   TEPHILIN. 

The  stranger  cast  Ms  eyes  in  the  direction  of  my  bed- 
He  seemed  to  notice  me  for  the  first  time.  He  looked 
at  me  distrustfully  and  answered  softly  : 

"  I  shall  leave  here  only  in  a  couple  of  hours,  after  my 
horses  have  been  fed." 

"Do  you  intend  going  away  again,  to-day?  " 

"  Certainly,"  rephed  the  stranger,  "  I  must  reach  Szeg- 
edin  to-day,  in  order  to  meet  the  night  train." 

"I  will  go  out  then,  and  feed  the  horses,"  said  Mathis. 
He  beckoned  to  the  stranger,  and  both  quitted  the  room 
together.  They  had  evidently  jnore  to  say  to  each  other 
which  they  would  not  repeat  in  my  hearing. 

This  httle  episode  was  calculated  to  rouse  my  curios- 
ity in  the  highest  degree  ;  whilst  I  was  left  to  myself  in 
the  room,  I  began  to  make  all  kinds  of  reflections  and  sur- 
mises, puzzling  my  brain  over  what  I  had  heard,  and 
wondering  what  in  the  world  these  two  men  had  to  say 
to  each  other  that  I  was  not  permitted  to  hear. 

An  hour  passed  away,  when  the  two  made  their  re-ap- 
pearance. Mathis  went  to  his  chest  and  took  therefrom 
a  well-fiUed  purse.  He  opened  it  and,  counting  out  very 
distinctly  the  sum  called  for,  handed  it  to  his  guest  who 
put  the  same  into  his  pocket.  Then  he  gave  him  an  ad- 
ditional amount  in  small  bills,  adding,  at  the  same  time, 
"  Here  are  your  traveling  expenses." 

I  saw  that  Mathis  felt  a  httle  ill  at  ease.  The  stranger 
had  eaten  nothing  since  morning.  Mathis  was  well  aware 
that  the  laws  of  the  Jewish  rehgion  prevented  his  guest 
eating  the  food  that  was  cooked  in  his  kitchen,  and  he 
was  embarrassed  as  to  what  he  could  offer  him.  My  meals 
were  cooked  daily  according  to  strict  kosher  requii^ements, 
and  I  still  had  a  portion  of  my  dinner  left.  I  whispered 
to  my  nurse  to  run  to  the  kitchen  and  bring  up  the  re- 
mains. I  received  the  hearty  thanks  of  my  host  and  his 
guest,  the  latter  of  whom  partook  of  my  cheer  in  a  man- 
ner that  gave  evidence  of  his  extreme  hunger,  and  mani- 
fested complete  satisfaction  at  the  excellence  of  the  food. 

He  had  scarcely  finished  eating,  when  the  servant  an- 
noimced  that  the  horses  were  ready  to  start.  The  Jew 
bade  his  host  an  affectionate  good  by,  bestowed  on  me  a 
fiiendly  farewell,  turned  from  the  room  and  immediately' 
drove  off. 


THE   TEPHILTN.  95 

Mathis  then  sat  down  again  by  my  bedside.  He  seemed 
sad,  and  more  than  once  he  drew  his  hand  across  his  eyes 
to  wipe  away  a  drooping  tear.  I  felt  compassion  for  him 
without  knowing  the  cause  of  his  sorrow,  and  I  asked 
him  whether  his  late  guest  had  brought  him  any  bad 
news. 

"  That  is  just  as  one  might  take  it,"  he  replied.  "  Yet 
why  should  I  be  imthankful  to  our  good  God  ?  I  have 
heard  that  my  only  well-beloved  son  is  well ;  that,  at  any 
rate,  is  gracious  intelligence." 

"  How,  Mathis  I  You  have  a  son,  and,  though  I  have 
already  been  here  three  weeks,  I  have  never  heard  you 
speak  of  him  ?  Ah,  he  is  perhaps  enrolled  with  the  army, 
and  you  are  now  buying  him  off.     Is  it  not  so  ?  " 

"  Let  us  drop  the  subject,  dear  sir  ;  it  will  do  us  little 
good  to  discuss  these  things  here.  There  is  no  harm  in 
trusting  you,  but  wait,  rather,  imtil  you  have  been  re- 
moved to  the  doctor's,  and,  if  you  will  allow  me  to  visit 
you,  I  will  cheerfully  confide  my  secret  to  you.  It  will 
even  do  me  good  to  speak  of  it." 

The  next  day,  I  was  brought  to  the  neighboring  village, 
to  the  house  of  my  physician,  where  a  room  had  been 
made  ready  for  me.  Notwithstanding  the  care  that  had 
been  bestowed  on  me,  there  was  a  fear  that  the  result  of 
my  injuries  might  still  prove  serious.  But  I  felt  certain 
of  such  good  and  successful  treatment  that  the  bare  con- 
fidence of  recovery  accelerated  my  convalescence. 

Mathis  kept  his  promise  ;  he  paid  me  a  call  one  fine 
afternoon,  and,  as  I  was  strong  enough  to  listen,  he  began 
the  relation  of  the  not  uninteresting  story  of  the  Tephilin. 
I  shall  content  myself  with  its  mere  substance. 

Alma  and  Katany  are  two  villages  not  widely  separa- 
ted from  each  other.     The  latter  is  chiefly  inhabited  by 
Germans,  Swabians,  who  came  into  the  place  with  the  - 
Emperor  Joseph  11.     In  the  former,  a  more  miscellane-  J 
ous  horde  is  congregated,  consisting  of  Hungarians,  Ser-  . 
vians  and  Germans.     Here  there  lived  several  poor  Jew- 
ish famiUes,  and,  among  them,  Schlome,  who  kept  an  inn. 
As  the  profits  from  this  source  were  not  sufficient  to  sup- 
port a  family,  he  started  a  small  miscellaneous  business, 
belling,  among  other  things,  wax  candles,  soap,  tobacco, 


96  THR   TEPHHIN. 

pipes,  matches  and  salt.  This  little  business  was  Schlome*s 
onlj  means  of  keeping  his  family  in  decent  circumstan- 
ces ;  for  his  inn  brought  him  nothing,  and  the  authori- 
ties forced^  him  to  let  his  surrounding  ground  because  he 
could  not  work  it  himself  six  days  in  the  week  ;  it  is  an 
undeniable  truth  that  the  Jew  with  his  two  days  of  rest, 
— his  own  and  that  of  the  Christians  (on  which  he  was 
not  permitted  to  work),  can  not  be  a  successful  farmer. 

Still,  with  all  this,  I  do  not  see  the  right  of  any  govern- 
ment to  make  the  cultivation  of  the  soil  a  burthen  to  the 
Jew  ;  for,  on  the  same  reasoning,  if  a  tailor  were  pre- 
vented from  attending  to  his  own  business  himself  by 
some  sickness,  they  could  compel  him  to  close  up  his 
workshop. 

Schlome  lived  a  happy  life.  His  only  daughter  was  a 
thrifty  Httle  house-keeper,  who  attended  to  the  kitchen 
and  garden,  and  assisted  her  father  in  the  management 
of  his  business. 

It  was  a  bright  Summer  morning  in  the  year  1849.  As 
usual,  Schlome  rose  with  the  break  of  day,  put  on  his 
talith  and  laid  his  tephilin,  and  began  to  say  his  morning 
prayers.  He  had  just  concluded,  when  a  man,  pale  as 
death,  came  rushing  breathless  into  the  room,  and,  fall- 
ing exhausted  on  a  bench,  exclaimed  : 

"  Schlome,  help  me,  I  can  go  no  further !  " 

The  man  that  made  his  entrance  r.o  suddenly  was 
Ma  this,  the  richest  farmer  in  Rat  any.  The  day  previous, 
insurgents  had  forced  an  entry — the  Hungarian  revolu- 
tion was  then  at  its  height — and  had  seized  quarters  in 
the  houses  of  the  peasants.  An  officer  of  high  rank  had 
quartered  himself  with  Mathis. 

The  night  was  sultry  and  the  officer  could  not  obtain 
a  wink  of  sleep  in  the  close  atmosphere  of  the  room  ;  so 
he  directed  his  servant  to  take  a  straw  mattrass  into  the 
court-yard,  in  order  that  he  might  sleep  in  the  open  air. 
The  servant  had  carelessly  place  his  loaded  gun  against 
the  kitchen  door,  and  then  gone  to  bed.  Mathis  rose 
early  in  the  morning,  opened  the  kitchen  door,  the  gun 
fell  down  and  exploded  vdth  a  sharp  report — and  the  of- 
ficer lay  weltering  in  his  blood.  Mathis,  frightened,  step- 
ped out,  lifted  up  the  ^n  which  was  at  his  feet,  and,  at 
the  same  moment,  the  startled  servant  of  the  officer, 


THE    TEPHILIN.  97 

roused  from  his  sleep,  rushed  out.  He  beheld  his  mas- 
ter bathed  in  blood  and  the  peasant  with  the  murderous 
weapon  in  his  hands  ;  the  conclusion  that  Mathis  had  com- 
mitted the  murder,  was  soon  arrived  at. 

"  You  German  dog,"  he  growled,  "  You  have  shot  my 
master ! " 

Undoubtedly  he  felt  himself  too  weak  to  seize  hold  of 
the  powerful  looking  Mathis  ;  so,  half  naked  as  he  was, 
he  ran  through  the  streets  gathering  his  comrades  togeth- 
er. Mathis  felt  the  danger  of  his  situation  and  that,  if 
he  came  into  the  ranks  of  the  insurgents,  he  would  be  ir- 
redeemably lost.  A  hasty  flight  was  his  only  means  of 
safety.  He  did  not  reflect  long,  ran  into  the  garden, 
sprang  over  the  bushes,  and  shrubs  and  rocks  towards 
Alma. 

As  he  for  the  first  time  obtained  sight  of  this  village, 
he  observed  armed  insurgents  moving  towards  Alma  on 
the  highway.  In  the  fear  and  agony  of  the  moment,  he 
sought  concealment  in  the  house  of  Schlome.  Schlome 
was  under  some  slight  obhgations  to  him.  From  him 
alone  could  he  expect  assistance.  The  other  inhabitants 
of  Alma  were  all  in  sympathy  with  the  rebels.  The  inn 
was  at  the  outskirts  of  the  village.  He  dared  not  go  fur- 
ther without  fear  of  discovery. 

So  we  see  Matliis,  frenzied  and  alarmed,  appearing  in 
Schlome 's  house. 

"  My  God !  "  the  latter  exclaimed,  "  what  is  the  matter  ? 
What  do  you  ask  of  me  ?     Speak  !  " 

In  a  few  words,  Mathis  related  the  events  of  the  morn- 
ing. 

"  "Well,  what  shall  I  do  ?  "  repeated  Schlome. 

"  Hide  me,  that  I  may  escape  my  bloodthirsty  pursuers. 
The  plundering  Hungarians  will  soon  be  here,  and  will 
tansack  the  whole  village  in  search  of  me." 

"  But,  for  Heaven's  sake,  Mathis,  you  know  how  little 
protection  this  building  can  afford  you.  Where  can  I 
pat  you  to  ensure  your  safety? " 

"  I  do  not  know.  You  must  devise  that,  Schlome. — 
Only  do  not  let  me  fall  into  their  hands." 

"  If  they  catch  you  with  me,  then  we  are  both  dead 
men.  You  know  they  are  not  apt  to  make  much  cere- 
mony with  a  Jew." 


98  THE   TEPHILIN. 

"  Good  God !     What  shaU  I  do  ?  " 

"We  are  both  lost." 

"  No,  Schlome,  why  should  I,  without  any  cause,  drag 
you  into  my  unlucky  plight  ?  I  will  depart ;  and  should 
fate  bring  me  in  the  pow  er  of  my  pursuers,  then  may  God 

help  me  !     But  go  to  the  village  of  D ,  where  my  son 

is  stopping  with  his  grandmother.  Bear  him  my  remem- 
brance, and  dying  blessing.'* 

"  But  you  misunderstand  me,  Mathis.  By  no  means 
shall  you  expose  yourseK  to  danger,  by  leaving  my  house. 
Do  you  suppose  me  selfish  enough  or  so  destitute  of 
friendship  for  you  as  to  put  your  life  in  danger  for  the 
sake  of  saving  my  own  ?  You  have  sought  shelter  with 
me,  and  you  shall  have  it.  I  have  a  strong  arm,  and  shall 
use  it  in  your  defence.  So  long  as  I  can  wield  it,  no  one 
shall  menace  you  with  impunity.'* 

"  Hark !  do  you  hear  nothing  ?  '* 

At  this  moment,  Gertrude,  Schlome's  daughter,  de- 
clared that  six  armed  Hungarians  were  approaching  the 
village. 

Then  a  rare  thought  suddenly  occurred  to  Schlome. 
He  took  from  the  cupboard  an  old  talith  and  a  bag  con- 
taining tephilin,  both  heirlooms  of  his  lately  deceased 
father.  Schlome  caused  Mathis  to  bare  his  left  arm, 
around  which  he  wound  one  portion  of  the  tephilin,  and 
placed  the  remaining  part  around  his  brow  ;  at  the  same 
time,  he  robed  him  with  the  talith,  whilst  giving  him  the 
following  advice  : 

"  Whoever  may  enter,  take  no  notice  of  him.  Remain 
standing,  as  if  you  were  saying  your  prayers,  and  lift  up 
your  eyes  often  and  move  your  body  fervently.  Do  not 
let  any  one  disturb  you  in  your  devotions.  Whatever 
questions  they  may  put  to  you,  I  shall  take  it  upon  my- 
self to  answer.  Hold  this  book  in  your  hand  and  face 
the  East.  As  a  further  precaution,  take  those  spectacles, 
a  relic  of  my  grandfather's,  and  let  them  straddle  your 
nose.'* 

Mathis  followed  these  instructions  implicitly.  A  very 
few  minutes  afterwards,  several  armed  insurgents  burst 
into  the  room,  others  surroimded  the  house.  Mathis  be- 
gan to  put  the  upper  half  of  his  body  in  vigorous  perpen- 
dicular motion.    He  might  have  been  taken  for  a  saint. 


THE   TEPHILm.  99 

He  was  thus  able  to  conceal  his  violent  trembling,  and  to 
make  the  clattering  of  his  teeth  seem  as  if  engaged  in  the 
sincerity  of  prayer. 

"  Jew !  "  exclaimed  the  leader  of  the  insurgents  ;  "  is 
there  no  peasant  from  Ratany  concealed  here  ?  " 

Schlome,  with  ready  wit,  replied  :  "  What  have  we 
got  to  do  with  the  Ratanians  ?  They  are  not  our  broth- 
ers ;  because  they  are  Germans  and  we  are  Hungarians.'' 

Whoever  understands  anything  of  the  character  of  the 
Hungarians  and  their  national  pride,  especially  at  the 
time  of  which  we  are  writing,  will  at  once  perceive  that 
Schlome's  answer  was  in  itself  almost  sufficient  to  dispel 
any  suspicion  which  Mathis's  pursuers  may  have  enter- 
tained. 

"  Oh,  well,  we  will  hunt  through  the  house,"  spoke  the 
leader,  "  and  should  we  catch  the  villain  here,  then  both 
he,  you,  and  that  blabberer  there  " — pointing  to  Math  is 
— "  will  be  forthwith  cut  to  pieces." 

"As  you  please,"  said  Schlome.  "But  I  tell  you  that 
it  is  a  shame  to  look  for  a  concealed  traitor  in  the  house 
of  an  honest  Hungarian.  Why  do  you  not  go  to  the 
Germans  ?  " 

The  leader  of  this  gang  was  quite  convinced  of  Schlome's 
sincerity  ;  bub,  in  order  that  he  might  have  the  satisfac- 
tion of  doing  something  after  he  got  into  the  house,  he 
ordered  four  of  his  followers  to  make  the  search.  In  the 
meanwhile,  he  himself  peered  into  every  corner  of  the 
room,  wherever  a  concealment  might  be  possible,  and  then 
he  turned  to  Mathis. 

"  What  do  you  say,  chatterer  ?  Is  there  really  no  one 
hidden  here  ?  " 

Mathis  turned  his  eyes,  balanced  his  head,  and  moved 
his  hps  aloud. 

"He  wont  answer  you  for  an  hour,"  said  Schlome, 
"  not  until  he  is  done  with  his  prayers." 

"  Ohr*  a  little  for  me,"  said  the  leader  of  the  insur- 
gents. 

"  What,  are  you  a  Jew?  "  inquired  Schlome  of  the  lat- 
ter. 

"  Eh,  what!  "  said  the  man.    "  That  is  immaterial ;  we 

•  Pray. 


100  THE   TEPHTLIN. 

are  at  war  now,  and  Jew  and  Christian  are  one  and  the 
same." 

Schlome  thought  this  neither  the  time  nor  place  for  an 
argument  against  such  an  assertion.  In  the  meantime, 
the  four  men  returned.  They  had,  as  might  weU  be  im- 
agined, discovered  nothing  ;  and  the  whole  crowd  soon 
after  departed  to  make  further  search  thi'ough  the  village. 
Mathis  remained  with  Schlome  the  whole  of  that  and 
the  following  day  and  night,  when  the  news  came  that 
the  Hungarians  had  withdrawn  from  Ratany. 

Before  Mathis  quitted  his  deliverer,  he  clasped  his  hand 
affectionately^  and  said  : 

"  As  long  as  I  live,  I  shall  never  forget  your  self-sacri- 
ficing kindness  to  me,  and  the  debt  I  owe  you  ;  and  how 
I  should  have  been  lost  had  you  not  so  humanely  and 
generously  come  to  my  assistance  when  those  savage 
fiends  threatened  me  with  death.  Farewell,  kind  friend. 
The  time  may  come  when  I  can  reward  your  hospitahty. 
My  hand  and  heart  are  forever  at  your  command." 

Mathis  took  the  tephilin  and  talith  with  him,  as  me- 
mentoes of  his  past  danger,  and  soon  was  lost  to  sight. 


A  man  nearly  dying  with  thirst,  in  Alma,  one  evening 
sent  his  daughter,  aged  ten  years,  to  the  inn,  to  get  some 
brandy.  She  did  not  return.  The  thirsty  mortal  im- 
patiently awaited  her  coming  for  a  full  hour  ;  but  the 
girl  did  not  come.  Enraged  at  the  child's  delay,  he  arm- 
ed himself  with  a  cane,  and  started  out  after  her,  firmly 
resolved  to  teach  her,  by  a  physical  demonstration,  that 
she  must  not  allow  a  thirsty  father  to  suffer  so.  He  ar- 
rived at  Schlome' s,  pjid  was  by  him  informed  that  the 
girl  had  started  for  home  an  hour  ago,  taking  with  her 
the  alcohohc  beverage.  The  angry  Servian  rushed  home- 
wards again ;  but  his  daughter  had  not  returned  ;  it  was 
already  ten  o'clock. 

Evidently  there  was  something  wrong.  The  neighbors 
were  awakened  from  their  sleep,  some  were  sent  into  the 
street  and  others  to  the  houses  of  the  missing  child's  in- 
timate friends.  Their  labors  were  in  vain,  and  soon  nu- 
merous suspicious  thoughts  were  being  hazarded.    By 


i 


THE   TEPHILIN.  101 

some  unlucky  circumstance,  one  of  the  readiest,  a  Ser- 
vian, gave  it  as  his  opinion  that  the  girl  was  dead. 

"  The  Jev  s, "  he  said,  "  use  the  blood  of  Christian  chil- 
dren in  their  sacrifices  ;  Schlome  has  undoubtedly  slaugh- 
tered the  child." 

The  edict  had  gone  forth.     The  old  man's  doctrine 
found  a  ready  response  in  the  hearts  of  ^11  his  hearers. ,    , 
The  whole  village  was  alarmed,  every ".oiio^s^ai^'^lDiiwling;  \- 
and  screaming  ;  their  only  cry  was  :        .  '     ' '  ' 

"Schlome  has  murdered  a  Christi&n,  clald';  N^'-iwDl;',] 
kiU  him,  too.  "We  will  destroy  aU  blood'l^^inhers  1'  fe  •  " ' 
must  yield  up  the  dead  girl !  We  will  tear  him  to  pieces !  " 

Such  and  similar  exclamations  foretokened  the  danger 
that  was  threatening  Schlome.  All  the  peasants  armed 
themselves  with  weapons  of  torture  and  destruction,  and, 
as  if  there  were  no  longer  any  doubt  as  to  Schlome's  guilt, 
rushed  towards  the  inn  with  revengeful  cries. 

But  Schlome  had  been  forewarned  by  some  friendly 
hand.  A  Jewish  resident  of  Alma  had  hastened  to  him, 
and  pictured  to  his  mind  the  storm  that  was  about  to 
burst  over  his  head.  When  the  leader  of  this  rabble  came 
to  the  inn,  he  found  nobody  but  Gertrude,  Schlome's 
young  daughter,  who,  suffering  under  a  severe  fever,  was 
unable  to  foUow  her  father  in  his  flight.  Time  pressed, 
Gertrude  pledged  herself  to  hurry  after  him  ;  and,  as  he 
thought  himself  convinced  that  she  suffered  no  danger, 
he  left  her  at  home,  and  fled  alone. 

This  flight  which  the  peasants,  after  marching  through 
the  house,  convinced  themselves  Schlome  had  taken,  was 
to  their  minds  sufficient  evidence  of  his  guilt.  Their 
wrath  increased,  and  they  seized  hold  of  glasses  and  bot- 
tles, and  knocked  them  around  the  room,  breaking  win- 
dows and  doors.  Poor  Gertrude  lay  trembling  on  her 
couch,  and  rude  hands  seized  her  person  and  tore  at  her 
hair,  and  bound  her  fast. 

"  Do  not  hurt  her,"  said  the  village  magistrate  ;  "  for, 
even  if  she  be  not  entirely  guiltless,  yet  we  must  dis- 
cover, through  her,  where  her  father  has  concealed  him- 
self." 

I  will  believe,  for  humanity's  sake,  that  the  magistrate 
Spoke  these  words  out  of  pity,  and  to  save  the  girl  from 
further  harm.     I  am  almost  convmced  now  that  he  did, 
9* 


102  THE    TEPHILIN. 

inasmucli  as,  at  a  later  period,  he  is  said  to  have  express- 
ed a  doubt  about  Schlome's  guilt,  as  far  as  the  lost  girl 
was  concerned  ;  because,  though  Jews  may  use  the  blood 
of  Christian  children  in  their  Easter  sacrifices,  this  festi- 
val usually  occui's  in  the  spring  of  the  year  ;  and  the 
missing  child  was  lost  in  July.  So  pleasant  it  is  to  rea- 
son phHossophically,  and  to  know  that  passion  and  preju- 
dice pifen  bjin^  the  eyes  of  men  to  the  truth  and  proba- 
bUities  of  tnings.  , 

Mathi^f happened  to  be  in  a  neighboring  house.  To 
hini  i^chlome  hastened,  in  the  wildness  of  despair. 

"  Mathis !  Mathis !  Now  you  can  repay  me ;  now  you 
can  save  me  from  the  undeserved  fury  of  an  enraged 
mob ! " 

Schlome  hastily  related  what  had  happened.  Mathis 
took  his  hand  lovingly  in  his  own,  and  said  : 

"  Fear  not,  Schlome.  Should  it  become  necessary,  I 
will  defend  you  with  my  life,  even  as  you  risked  yours 
for  me.  It  can  hardly  enter  their  minds  that  you  are 
with  me." 

"  Yet,"  repHed  Schlome,  "  I  fear  I  was  observed  to  en- 
ter here." 

"However,"  said  Mathis,  "my  son  shall  go  to  Alma, 
and  bring  me  the  news  from  there." 

Mathis  sent  his  son  Peter,  aged  sixteen,  after  acquaint- 
ing him  with  the  events  of  the  morning,  over  to  Alma,  to 
reconnoitre,  and  to  see  how  matters  stood.  Peter  went, 
but  almost  immediately  afterwards  returned,  looking 
deathly  pale,  and  announced  that  intelligence  of  the* loss 
of  the  Christian  child  had  abeady  reached  Ratany  ;  that 
Schlome  had  been  seen  to  steal  his  way  into  the  house, 
and  that  several  of  the  rabble  were  approaching,  deter- 
mined to  enter  and  search  through  the  house,  and,  if 
they  find  Schlome,  drag  him  to  Alma. 

"  Go  through  the  garden  into  the  field,"  said  Mathis 
to  his  son,  "  and  over  to  Alma.  You  can  get  there  quick- 
ly. It  is  dayhght  now,  and  perhaps  the  child  may  have 
been  found." 

Schlome  likewise  requested  Peter  to  look  after  Ger- 
trude, and  to  see  whether  she  were  safe. 

"  We  have  no  time  to  lose,"  said  IMathis  to  Schlome. 
"  Pull  this  dressing  gown  over  yonr  head,  and  he  down 


THE  TEPHILIN.  103 

on  this  bench.  I  will  cover  you  with  my  furs.  Keep 
quiet,  and  leave  matters  to  me.  Should  the  mob  press 
in,  I  wiU  so  arrange  it  that  they  will  carry  me  off  instead 
of  you.  Then,  when  I  am  gone,  put  on  my  broad  brim- 
med hat,  go  through  the  garden,  and  take  the  road  to 

D ;  you  will  find  a  Jewish  congregation  there,  and 

one  of  your  Eabbis,  whose  duty  it  will  be  to  protect  you. 
By  the  time  the  baffled  crowd  discover  who  I  am,  you  wiU 
be  in  safety." 

Schlome  obeyed  orders.  Mathis  took  from  his  trunk 
the  tephilin  presented  him  by  Schlome,  untied  them,  and 
wound  them  around  his  arm,  as  he  had  previously  been 
instructed,  paying  little  heed,  however,  whether  or  not 
he  had  them  exactly"  right,  put  on  the  old  talith,  and  set 
Schlome's  hat  on  his  head.  Thus  he  awaited  the  attack 
which  could  not  long  be  delayed.  A  loud  clamor  from 
the  street  proclaimed  the  approach  of  the  peasants'  in- 
quisition. 

Mathis  stood  in  front  of  the  wall,  and  made  religious 
gesticulations. 

Ten  or  twelve  peasants  rushed  into  the  room. 

"  Aha !  There  is  the  blood  drinker.  Away  with  him 
to  Alma ! " 

Two  peasants  seized  Mathis  by  the  arms  and  dragged 
him  out  of  the  room,  whilst  the  others  pushed  him  from 
behind.  He  held  the  talith  so  tightly  around  his  face 
that  his  identity  could  not  be  discovered,  and  only  the 
tephilin  band  around  his  forehead  was  visible.  The 
crowd  grew  as  they  proceeded  in  their  course.  In  their 
mad  zeal  they  never  thought  of  pulling  away  his  dis- 
guise. 

They  had  already  gone  three-fourths  of  the  way.  Mat- 
his began  to  tire  of  their  pulhng  and  pushing.  Keflect- 
ing  that  Schlome  must,  by  this  time,  be  secure,  he  resolv- 
ed to  put  an  end  to  this  masquerade.  With  a  powerful 
effort,  he  freed  himself  from  the  grasp  of  his  torment- 
ors, threw  aside  the  talith,  tore  the  tephilin  from  his  arm 
and  head,  and  uttered  a  loud  and  defiant  laughter. 

The  tumultuous  rabble  were  dumbfounded.  "  Mathis ! 
Mathis  !  "  they  exclaimed  :  "  godfather  Mathis  '  cousin 
Mathis !  neighbor  Mathis !  " 

Such  were  their  cries  in  the  first  moments  of  their  as- 


104  THE   TEPHILrN. 

tonishment.  But  soon  the  spirit  of  revenge  was  again 
dominant  in  their  breasts.  The  affair,  which  they  inten- 
ded for  a  tragedy,  had  too  much  the  appearance  as  if  it 
was  to  turn  out  a  comedy.  It  was  the  furthest  from  their 
miuds  that  Mathis  should  make  a  laughing  stock  of  them. 
Said  one  : 

"  Mathis,  that  will  do  you  no  good.  You  have  hidden 
the  Jew,  and  we  won't  let  you  go  till  you  deliver  him  in- 
to our  hands." 

Another  cried  out : 

"  Out  with  the  Jew  ;  give  him  up  !  If  we  don't  bring 
him  back,  the  people  of  Alma  will  bum  our  houses  over 
our  heads." 

And  the  people  began  tearing  at  the  talith  with  the 
fierce  spirit  of  vandahsm,  until  they  had  torn  it  to  tatters. 
The  tephilin  might  have  shared  the  same  fate,  had  not 
Mathis,  with  great  forethought,  hidden  them  in  his  inner 
coat  pocket.  Mathis  was  not  in  the  pleasantest  of  situa- 
tions, for  the  people  had  resolved  to  take  him  to  Alma, 
whose  inhabitants  would  soon  bring  him  to  terms,  and 
compel  him  to  disclose  the  place  of  Schlome's  concealment. 

Suddenly,  they  saw  Mathis'  son,  Peter,  running  to- 
wards them.  He  was  making  signals  with  his  hands, 
but  which  they  could  not  very  well  understand,  until  he 
came  nearer,  when  he  exclaimed  : 

"  They  have  got  the  girl  ;  I  found  her  :  she  has  suf- 
fered no  harm !  " 

The  thing  happened  thus  :  -. 

AVhen  Peter  left  for  Alma,  as  he  approached  the  cal- 
lage, in  a  little  by-path,  he  came  across  a  young  girl  who 
was  weeping  and  wringing  her  hands.  Peter  suspected 
she  was  the  very  one  they  were  making  such  a  noise 
about.  He  stopped  and  began  talking  to  her,  and,  after 
considerable  effort,  by  much  questioning  and  persuasion, 
he  ascertained  that  the  brandy  she  had  been  sent  to  get 
for  her  father,  began,  in  a  short  time,  to  have  an  enticing 
effect  on  her  lips  ;  and  these  being  brought  in  frequent 
contact  with  the  Kquor  in  question,  soon  manifested  a  re- 
sult which  diminished  the  quantity  of  fluid  in  the  bottle, 
while  it  at  the  same  time  exerted  a  not  altogether  bright- 
ening effect  on  her  mind.  As  a  consequence,  instead  of 
taking  the  straight  road,  and  being  a  httle  too  inebriated 


THE   TEPHILIN.  105 

to  see  whether  she  was  going  home  or  somewhere  else, 
very  naturally  did  get  somewhere  else,  and  a  stupor  seiz- 
ing her,  she  fell  into  a  sound  sleep,  from  which  she  only 
awoke  a  few  hours  before  Peter  made  her  acquaintance. 
As  her  eyes  opened,  they  fell  on  the  half-emptied  bottle 
in  her  hand,  and  the  fear  of  what  she  might  expect  from 
her  father,  drew  from  her  bitter  tears  and  lamentations. 

Peter  felt  compassion  for  her,  and  to  the  eloquence  of 
his  words  in  attempting  to  persuade  her  to  go  home,  he 
added  money  more  than  sufficient  to  purchase  the  defici- 
ency of  hquor,  and  save  the  child  from  its  father's  cruel 
wrath. 

The  house  in  which  Gertrude  was  lying  was  surround- 
ed by  a  mass  of  bloodthirsty  peasants.  They  wanted,  by 
all  means,  to  have  Gertrude  out,  that  they  might  revenge 
themselves  on  her  young  blood.  The  poor  girl  within 
heard  their  loud  clamor,  and  trembled. 

Suddenly,  everything  wdthout  was  still.  Peter  arrived, 
leading  the  missing  child  by  the  hand.  He  was  at  once 
surrounded  and  eagerly  questioned  ;  in  a  few  w^ords,he 
told  them  what  had  happened,  and  the  weeping  girl  at 
his  side  bore  witness  to  the  truth  of  what  he  said.  Then 
this  rabid  horde  slunk  away  one  by  one.  A  few  only 
were  ashamed  of  their  conduct — many  were  embarrassed 
as  to  how  they  might  excuse  their  rashness ;  and  some 
still  held  fast  to  the  opinion  that,  if  the  missing  child 
had  not  been  found,  then  Schlome  must  have  murdered 
her. 

Gertrude  could  scarcely  beheve  her  senses  when  Peter 
hurried  to  her  side,  and  told  her  the  joyful  news  ;  how 
that  the  lost  girl  had  been  found,  and  that  she  was  now 
safe  and  could  go  with  him  to  her  father,  who,  likewise, 
had  nothing  more  to  fear. 

The  mention  of  her  father's  name  recalled  him  to  her 
mind,  and,  breaking  into  sobs,  she  cried  out : 

"My  father!  Where  is  my  father?  Oh,  let  me  see 
him !     Is  he  safe  ?  " 

"Do  not  be  alarmed,  Gertrude," replied  Peter  ;  "your 
father  is  with  mine :  no  evil  has  befallen  him,  and  you 
can  go  with  me  and  see  him." 

Gertrude  sprang  from  her  couch  for  joy.  But  the  fev- 
er that  she  had,  had  Aveukened  her  so  much,  that  she  had 


lOG  THE  TEPHILIN. 

scarcely  stood  up  -when  she  fell  senseless  to  tlie  floor. 
Peter  was  somewhat  embarrassed.  He  threw  himself  on 
his  knees  before  her,  and  begged  her,  with  tears  in  his 
eyes,  to  awake.  He  smoothed  back  her  long  silken  hair 
fi'om  her  round,  pale  face,  and  irresistibly  pressed  a  long, 
burning  kiss  on  her  bright,  red  hps. 

Her  eyes  opened. 

"  Where  is  my  father  ?  "  was  her  first  question. 

"  He  will  be  here,  soon,"  Peter  rephed  ;  "  I  shall  bring 
him  with  me  directly.  But — I  cannot  leave  you  alone, 
Gertrude  ;  you  are  ill." 

"  Oh,  no,  good  Peter  ;  I  feel  much  better  now,  and  if 
I  only  have  my  father  near  me  again,  then  all  will  be  well 
with  me." 

Peter  went  away  sorrowfully.  We  already  know  in 
what  company  he  came  across  his  father.  He  related 
how  everything  was  cleared  up  in  Alma.  The  narrative 
of  these  events,  and  the  satisfactory  reappearance  of  the 
lost  child,  put  the  crowd  somewhat  at  ease.  They  regret- 
ted, however,  that  they  had  dealt  so  harshly  with  Mathis, 
who,  being  rich,  was  all  in  all  to  them — godfather,  neigh- 
bor, cousin  and  dearest  of  friends.  The  latter  was  too 
shrewd  a  man  not  to  derive  some  advantage  from  this 
circumstance. 

Peter  ascertained  that  Schlome  had  fled  to  D ,  and 

thither  Peter  hastened  to  find  him — both  to  quiet  his 
fears  and  to  bring  him  home  again  to  Gerti-ude,  as  he  had 
promised.  He  foimd  him,  and  giving  him  the  gratifying 
assurance  of  his  safety,  accompanied  him  to  his  home. 
The  meeting  between  father  and  daughter  was,  as  might 
well  be  expected,  cordial  and  affectionate  ;  and,  as  Peter 
observed  their  love  for  each  other,  a  sudden  feeling  of 
affection  began  to  struggle  in  his  breast.  Gertrude  raised 
her  beautiful  blue  eyes  to  his,  those  eyes  in  which  her 
whole  soul  breathed  forth,  and  said  : 

"  You  were  our  protecting  angel,  Peter." 

Then  Peter  really  felt  that  he  loved  her,  ana  was  pre- 
pared to  have  his  throat  cut,  if  necessary,  for  Gertrude's 
Jake.  It  grew  late,  and,  as  Peter  felt  that  it  was  time  to 
go,  he  rose,  took  his  hat  in  hand,  and,  pressing  Ger- 
trude's fair  fingers  to  his  Hp-j,  breathed  on  them  his  ar- 
dent love,  and  bade  her  a  fond  g  od  night.     His  journey 


THE   TEPHILIN.  107 

home  was  dark  and  drear,  and  grim  phantasms  danced 
in  his  giddy  brain.  He  loved  ;  but  could  he  marry  her  ? 
Gertrude  was  a  Jewess,  and  he,  alas !  a  Protestant. 


Schlome  suffered  considerable  loss  by  this  little  dis- 
turbance, at  Alma,  for  the  rabble  had  not  dealt  very  gen- 
tly with  his  wares.  But  he  was  soon  consoled,  and  once 
more  his  affairs  were  put  in  order.  Gertrude  again  re- 
joiced in  the  bloom  of  health,  and  there  was  not  a  man  in 
all  Alma  who  did  not  soon  regi^et  the  annoyance  and  dis- 
asters that  had  befallen  her  and  her  dear  father.  Ger- 
trude, too,  thought  often  of  Peter,  who,  besides,  paid  many 
calls  at  Alma,  on  Sundays. 

One  evening,  in  the  quiet  of  his  reflections,  Schlome 
bethought  himself  of  his  tej)liilin,  and  that  Mathis  still  re- 
tained them.  They  were  given  to  Schlome  by  his  father, 
and  he  regarded  them  as  an  heirloom,  as  something  which 
he  could  not  part  with.  It  seemed  to  him  sinful  that  he 
should  allow  such  holy  rehcs  to  remain  in  the  profaned 
hands  of  a  stranger.  He  made  up  his  mind,  therefore,  to 
go  to  Ratany,  the  next  morning,  pay  his  friend  a  call,  and 
obtain  the  tephilin  from  him. 

An  old  Jewish  author  says  :  "  The  height  of  heaven, 
the  depth  of  the  earth,  and  the  extent  of  the  human 
heart,  are  immeasurable."  Inasmuch  as  the  mathemat- 
ical determination  of  the  periphery  and  diameter  of  this 
earthly  sphere  was  at  that  period  an  unexplained  secret 
to  the  good  man,  we  must  make  due  allowance  in  accept- 
ing his  parallel ;  but,  in  so  far  as  it  was  his  object  to  ex- 
press, in  a  striking  manner,  the  unfathomable  mystery  of 
the  human  soul,  we  must  admit  that  the  simiTe  evinces  po- 
etical inspiration. 

After  what  we  have  seen  of  the  friendly  relations  that 
existed  between  Mathis  and  Schlome,  any  idea  of  the  sev- 
erance of  the  friendly  link  would  seem  preposterous.  Yetj 
it  took  but  a  few  minutes'  colloquy  to  rupture  what,  un- 
til then,  had  seemed  an  irrefragable  attachment.  Let  us 
see  how  this  matter  was  brought  about. 

Schlome  called  on  Mathis  as  he  had  previously  resolv- 
ed. Of  course,  the  meeting  between  the  two  friends  was 
cordial  in  the  extreme. 


108  THE   TEPHILIN. 

"  Heaven  preserve  you,  Schlome,  what  lucky  circum- 
stance brings  you  here  ?  " 

"  A  small  matter,  Mathis  ;  it  occurred  to  me,  last  night, 
that  you  still  have  my  tqyhilin,  and  you  T\'ill  jDardon  me 
if  I  have  come  after  them." 

"  My  dear  friend,  Schlome,  you  don't  mean  that !  See, 
now,  these  tephilin  have  become  of  redoubled  interest 
to  me,  since  they  have  been  the  means,  on  different  oc- 
casions, of  saving  both  our  hves.  How  can  I  part  with 
them  ?  "  . 

"  But,  Mathis,  they  are  precious  family  reUcs,  and  I 
dare  not  give  them  to  you." 

"  Can  you  not  buy  others  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  need  others,  for  I  have  a  fine  set  for  daily 
use.     These,  however,  I  cannot  give  up." 

"Will  you  take  ten  dollars  for  them?"  asked  Mathis. 
The  blood  mantled  to  Schlome's  cheek  as  he  answered  : 

"For  shame  on  you,  Mathis,  to  think  that  I  would 
barter  for  an  heirloom.  They  are  priceless  to  me,  and  I 
must  have  them." 

•'  But  I  will  not  give  them  to  you." 

"  You  must.  I  never  gave  you  them  ;  you  took  them 
without  my  knowledge  or  consent.  The  tephilin  are  holy 
emblems  of  our  religion,  and  I  dare  not  leave  them  in 
unclean  hands." 

Mathis,  already  somewhat  displeased  with  Schlome's 
obstinacy,' at  the  words  "unclean  hands,"  became  greatly 
enraged.  He  ran  to  his  coffer,  tore  open  the  hd,  and 
brought  out  the  tephiliriy  and,  flinging  them  on  the  table, 
cried  out  with  passion : 

*'  There,  take  your  tephilin,  and  leave  my  house,  or 
these  '  unclean  hands '  will  massacre  you !  Never  darken 
my  doors  again  with  jour  presence  ;  but  you  shall  think 
of  Mathis  as  long  as  you  hve  !  " 

The  door  closed  on  Schlome.  He  heaved  many  a  sigh 
as  he  wended  his  way  home,  and  reflected  on  the  uncer- 
tainties of  this  life.  His  best  friend  had  now  become  his 
enemy  ;  a  trifle  had  made  a  deep  breach  in  their  friend- 
ship, and  would  it  ever  be  mended  ? 

Mathis,  too,  had  cause  for  reflection.  He  conceived  it 
a  rehgious  duty  to  revenge  himself  for  what'he  consider- 
ed an  outrage  on  himself  and  his  relisfious  faith.     He 


THE    TEPHILIN.  lv.9 

formed  the  bitter  determination  to  ruin  his  former  friend, 
but  now  deadly  enemy.     A  plan  was  soon  adopted. 

On  that  same  day  we  find  Mathis  at  Alma,  in  close 
conversation  wdth  the  landlord.  He  knew  very  well  that 
the  term  for  which  Schlome  had  rented  his  house  was 
about  expiring.  Mathis  accordingly  offered  to  take  the 
house  fur  a  number  of  years,  and  pay  as  much  as  five 
hundred  dollars  a  year.  Schlome  had  been  paying  only 
three  hundred.  The  landlord  replied  that  he  was  bound 
to  give  Schlome  the  refusal  for  the  same  amount  that 
Mathis  offered  to  pay  ;  but  Mathis  was  well  aware  that 
Schlome  was  not  in  a  condition  to  afford  paying  such 
a  high  rent.  He  was  not  surprised,  therefore,  when 
the  landlord  announced  to  him  that  the  building  was  his, 
and  that  Schlome  would  move.  Schlome  had  heard,  with 
pain,  that  Mathis  was  at  the  bottom  of  these  proceedings, 
and  his  heart  sank  within  him. 

At  the  end  of  his  term,  Schlome  packed  up  his  wares, 
left  his  old  house  with  Gertrude,  and  took  two  rooms  in 
a  remote  quarter  of  the  village.  Mathis  moved  to  Alma, 
and  entrusted  Peter  with  the  inn  at  Katany. 

Peter  was  not  very  well  pleased  with  the  turn  affairs 
had  taken.  He  still  cherished  his  old  affection  for  Ger- 
trude. But  how  could  he  visit  her,  when  their  parents 
were  on  such  bad  terms  together  ?  Love  devises  a  num- 
ber of  ways  to  overconre  difficulties.  Gertrude  was  in 
the  habit  of  going  to  market  every  Tuesday  afternoon 
to  bring  thither  the  little  articles  she  had  embroidered 
during  the  week.  Peter  soon  heard  of  this,  and,  as  the 
stated  day  came  round,  he  regularly  saddled  his  horse, 
went  into  the  highway  and  met  her  ;  he  rode  with  her  to 
market,  and  rendered  her  every  assistance  when  she  seem- 
ed in  need  of  help.  Then,  when  her  work  was  disposed 
of,  he  would  accompany  her  home  again.  Every  Tuesday 
was  a  holiday  for  Peter. 

Once  Gertrude  began  to  think.  "Wasn't  it  very  wrong 
to  encourage  this  young  man,  whom  she  could  never  hope 
to  marry  ?  "  If  he  were  only  an  Israehte,"  she  would 
say.  And  then  she  would  sigh,  and  sit  for  hours  in  deep 
thought.  Yet,  when  Tuesday  rolled  around,  again  v/ere 
they  both  found  together,  on  their  way  to  market.  Is 
not  love  a  very  strange  thing  ? 
10 


110  THE   TEPHILIN. 

This  went  on  for  two  full  years.  But  one  day  Gertrude 
did  not  come.     In  vain  Peter  waited  for  her. 

"  Poor  Gertrude  must  be  sick,"  he  murmured.  "  "Why 
she  looked  very  pale  last  Tuesday,  and  complained  of  not 
feehng  well." 

Peter  had  indeed  surmised  the  truth  :  for  Gertrude 
was  very  sick.  Her  work  was  resting  idle,  and  her  dis- 
taff was  quietly  lying  with  no  f  au'  hands  to  set  it  in  oper- 
ation. And  here  was  poor  Schlome,  with  hardly  a  cent 
in  this  world,  who  could  satisfy  the  parched  hps  of  his 
beloved  daughter  with  nothing  but  cold  water.  The  night 
before,  he  had  sold  the  last  piece  of  property  that  he  could 
spare  for  bread.  He  httle  thought  that,  on  the  follow- 
ing day,  he  would  have  to  fast,  and  that  the  next  day  there 
would  be  no  better  prospect.  Gertrude's  illness,  how- 
ever, filled  him  -svith  great  anxiety.  "WTiat  could  he  do 
for  her  ?  She  herself,  the  prop  of  his  house,  and  surmis- 
ing her  father's  thoughts,  smiling  stretched  her  hands  to- 
wards him  and  said :  "  Do  not  mind  me,  father,  I  am 
not  hungry.  AVhilst  I  am  sick,  I  need  nothing;  and, 
when  I  recover,  all  shall  be  well  again." 

Schlome  tui'ned  his  head  aside,  wiped  away  a  warm 
tear  that  was  about  to  roll  fi^om  his  eyelid,  and,  going  to 
the  closet,  took  therefrom  the  small  bag  containing  the 
tqDhilin,  and  left  the  house. 

Was  he  going  to  say  his  prayers?  Why,  the  pious 
man  has  done  that  once  already  to-day.  Was  he  going 
to  sell  them  ?  "WTio  would  give  him  the  smallest  sum  in 
payment  for  them  ? 

Schlome  went  straight  to  the  inn,  to  Mathis.  "  Mathis," 
he  said,  and  handed  him  the  tephiiin,  "  once,  you  offered 
me  ten  dollars  for  these  ;  if  they  have  not  lost  aU  worth 
to  you,  take  them  in  pledge  and  lend  me  two  dollars, 
else  I  must  see  my  poor  Gertrude  perish  before  my  very 
eyes." 

For  two  years,  the  once  intimate  friends  had  not  seen 
each  other.  The  shrunken,  hungry,  and  wretched  look 
of  Schlome,  as  he  appeared  tottering  and  trembhng  be- 
fore Mathis,  filled  the  latter  with  sohcitude.  The  knowl- 
edge that  he  had  made  this  man  unhappy, — this  man 
who  had  once  saved  his  Ufe,  filled  his  breast  with  remorse, 
and  his  heart  sank  within  him.     That  man  who  once  be- 


THE   TEPHILIN.  '  111 

fore  stood  before  him,  with  a  strong  arm,  and  had  taken 
his  hand  in  friendly  grasp,  now  stood  there  bowed  down 
with  grief,  and  he  alone  the  cause  of  all  this  misery. 

Ashamed  and  sorrow-stricken,  Mathis  grasped  his  hand, 
whilst  the  tears  rolled  down  his  cheeks.  "  My  friend,"  he 
said,  "  I  have  done  wrong,  pardon  me.  Here,  take  this 
bank  note;  I  need  no  pawn  from  you.  "We  have  been  on 
bad  terms  together,  but  I  have  not  forgotten  that  you  are 
yet  *the  honest  Schlome.'  " 

Schlome  took  the  money.  He  could  not  speak,  and, 
almost  choking  with  emotion,  he  gasped  the  words  "  thank 
you,  Mathis,"  and  hastened  to  the  relief  of  his  sick  child. 

And  as  Mathis  beheld  his  retreating  form,  in  his  re- 
morse he  exclaimed  : 

"  God  pardon  my  sin.  If  he  did  anger  me,  I  could 
have  withdrawn  myself  from  his  friendship  ;  but  what 
right  had  I  to  snatch  from  him  his  little  bread  !  " 

Two  hours  later,  he  sent  to  Ratany  for  Peter.  The  lat- 
ter came. 

"  My  son,"  said  Mathis,  "  Schlome  is  badly  off." 

Peter  trembled. 

"His  daughter,  Gertrude,"  continued  his  father,  "is 
very  ill." 

Peter  turned  pale. 

"  Schlome  is  no  longer  my  friend, — that  is  true, — but 
I  must  not  let  him  starve,  and  his  daughter  shall  not  per- 
ish for  want  of  help." 

"  Certainly  not,"  cried  Peter. 

"  Do  you  know  what,  Peter." 

"Well,  father?" 

"  Take  a  bag  of  flour  and  one  of  potatoes  to  Schlome, 
together  with  this  bottle  of  Tokay  and  this  paper  of  cake, 
the  latter  of  which  you  will  give  the  sick  girl  with  your 
own  hand, — and  look  around  a  Httle,  Peter,  and  see  if 
they,  perhaps,  need  anything  else." 

Peter  was  only  too  happy  to  fulfill  this  errand,  and, 
with  somewhat  more  foresightedness  than,  as  he  suppos- 
ed, his  father  possessed,  added  to  the  store  of  provisions, 
a  fine  pair  of  chickens,  some  butter,  cheese,  eggs,  and 
other  little  delicacies.  In  another  hour,  he  was  at  Ger- 
trude's bedside,  and  reproached  her  and  her  father  for 
not  having  long  ago  confided  their  necessities  to  him. 


112  THE    TEPHILIN. 

He  forthwith  despatched  a  man  after  the  doctor,  and  did 
not  leave  until  the  latter  came,  assured  him  there  was  no 
danger  and  promised  to  visit  his  patient  daily. 

From  this  day  forth,  Peter  was  at  Schlome's  house 
every  day,  and  was,  at  length,  the  happy  means  of  effect- 
ing a  thorough  reconciliation  between  his  father  and 
Schlome.  Then  Mathis  came  over,  too,  and  visited  the 
sick  girl,  who,*  under  such  kindly  care,  was  fast  recover- 
ing. Then  it  was,  too,  that  both  Schlome  and  Mathis 
suspected  the  feeling  entertained  for  each  other  by  the 
young  persons,  and,  as  they  reflected  on  what  differences 
separated  them,  they  shuddered  at  the  consequences  that 
might  ensue. 

In  the  meanwhile,  the  affection  between  Peter  and  Ger- 
trude was  on  the  increase.  Mathis  and  Schlome,  one 
day,  unburthened  their  minds  to  each  other.  They  both 
saw  the  folly  of  allowing  such  a  state  of  things  to  con- 
tinue. It  was  deemed  advisable,  however,  to  wait  until 
Gertrude's  recovery,  before  undertaking  such  an  unpleas- 
ant duty. 

It  happened  very  suddenly,  that  Schlome  was  taken 
dangerously  sick.  The  physician  said  the  iUness  was 
brought  on  by  over  exertion  and  anxiety  of  mind,  and 
expressed  great  solicitude  lest  it  might  prove  fatal.  Ma- 
this at  once  took  up  his  residence  with  Schlome  and  tend- 
ed him  during  his  entu-e  illness,  promptly  answermg  aU 
his  wants.     Matters  were  growing  serious. 

"  Mathis,"  said  Schlome,  one  day,  "  I  feel  my  end  ap- 
proaching, and  when  I  go  Gertrude  will  have  no  earthly 
protector.  But  I  shall  die  in  peace,  for  I  know  your  trus- 
ty heart ;  and  of  one  thing  you  must  assure  me,  that  my 
d^dng  moments  may  be  without  pain.  Promise  me  nev- 
er to  tempt  her  from  the  faith  of  her  fathers,  but  on  the 
contrary,  to  strengthen  her  in  that  behef  when  there  may 
come  temptations  to  make  her  swerve  from  the  path  of 
duty." 

Mathis  gave  him  his  hand  and  promised.  In  a  few 
hours,  Schlome  breathed  his  last. 

Gertrude  wept  bitterly,  and  sorrow  was  in  Mathis' 
heart.  Peter  wept  with  Gertrude,  and  grieved  with  Mathis. 

But  neither  tears  nor  sorrow  for  the  departed  can  tri- 
umph over  the  power  of  Time. 


THE  ^EPHILIN.  113 

Mathis  wished  Gertrude  to  make  his  house  her  home 
and  to  undertake  the  management  of  the  inn  ;  but  inas- 
much as  the  pious  Jewess  refused  to  take  her  meals  at 
her  protector's  table,  she  was  placed  with  a  Jewish  fami- 
ly in  the  village  ;  she  however  passed  the  forenoon  and 
afternoon  in  the  dwelling  of  Mathis,  and  it  is  scarcely 
necessary  to  add  that  from  this  time  Peter  visited  his 
father's  house  much  oftener  than  formerly. 

Mathis  soon  perceiving  that  such  a  state  of  things  could 
not  long  be  endured  without  both  moral  and  physical 
danger,  resolved  to  take  energetic  steps  to  put  an  end 
to  it.  He  commissioned  several  Israelites  to  propose  a 
"  good  match  "  for  Gertrude  ;  he  promised  for  her  an 
outfit  such  as  respectable  peasants  were  accustomed  to 
receive,  besides  several  hundred  Gulden  in  money,  and 
the  lease  of  the  inn  at  Alma. 

"  If  Gertrude  is  once  married,"  thought  Mathis,  "then 
Peter  will  soon  cease  to  think  of  her,  and  will  seek  and 
readily  find  a  wife,  for  he  is  a  fine  young  fellow  and  my 
only  heir  ;  and  after  a  httle  time  both  he  and  Gertrude 
will  laugh  at  their  youthful  folly." 

But  the  good  Mathis  was  mistaken.  The  first  Israel- 
ite who  presented  himself  as  a  suitor  to  Gertrude,  was 
treated  with  so  much  indifference,  and  even  open  dislike, 
that  he  gladly  withdrew  his  suit,  and  the  only  result  was 
that  Gertrude  now  appeared  every  morning,  her  eyes  red 
with  weeping,  and  Peter  was  so  affected  by  her  sadness 
that  it  was  feared  his  health  would  suffer. 

"But  do  tell  me,  my  son,"  asked  Mathis,  "on  what 
do  you  base  your  hopes." 

"  On  nothing,  father,"  was  the  painful  reply  ;  "  but  so 
much  is  certain,  that  I  will  not  marry,  since  Gertrude  can- 
not be  my  wife  ;  and,  if  she  weds  another,  I  will  shoot 
myself." 

Mathis  could  not  sleep  a  wink  that  night.  He  saw  two 
persons,  who  were  dear  to  him  as  life,  loving  and  yet  not 
daring  to  satisfy  that  love,  and  could  he  blame  his  boy? 
Yet  how  to  effect  a  result  without  giving  pain  to  their 
young  hearts,  or,  perhaps,  see  his  son  a  corpse  at  his  feet  ? 

His  mind  was  soon  made  up. 

On  the  following  morning,  he  summoned  Gertrude 
10* 


114 


•vUk  tephilin. 


&nd  Peter,  bade  them  to  sit  down  together  on  a  bench  be- 
fore him,  and  addressed  them  as  follows  : 

"  Listen  to  me,  children,  I  am  going  to  bring  these 
inatters  to  some  conclusion.  That  you  two  can  marry  each 
other,  each  with  a  different  rehgion,  is  entirely  out  of  the 
question.  As  far  as  Gertrude  is  concerned,  she  can  nev- 
er become  a  Protestant ;  she  will  never  abandon  her  rehg- 
ion, and,  besides,  I  promised  her  father,  on  his  dying 
bed,  that  I  would  never  tempt  her  from  her  faith.  But 
you,  Peter,  who  are  famihar  with  Jewish  customs,  and 
have  learnt  to  consider  the  God  of  the  Jew  as  the  God  of 
the  Protestant,  can,  without  making  any  sacrifice,  change 
your  religion.  I  interpose  no  obstacle  in  your  way.  But 
here,  where  there  exist  so  many  prejudices,  you  can  nev- 
er live  safely.  Go  to  America,  that  land  which  offers  an 
asylum  to  all,  where  you  will  be  protected  in  your  rights, 
and  where  you  can  enjoy  your  life  in  quiet  and  content- 
ment. Go,  and  my  blessing  attend  you.  I  will  pay  your 
expenses  thither,  and  give  you  sufficient  to  establish  your- 
seljf  in  some  business.  The  moment  you  are  married, 
send  me  a  token,  Take  these  Tephilin  ;  they  belonged 
to  Schlome,  and  may  they  accompany  your  first  experi- 
ence in  your  new  rehgion.  When  you  are  in  want  of 
funds  in  your  new  business,  or  need  assistance,  send  me 
these  Tephilin,  and  I  will  transmit  you  whatever  sum  you 
may  require." 

Need  I  go  further  ?  I  have  already  related  to  you  how 
I  saw  these  tephilin  brought  to  Mathis  by  the  aged  Israel- 
'te.  The  young  couple  were  married  with  their  father's 
blessing,  and  set  sail  for  the  land  of  freedom. 


In  a  few  weeks,  I  was  so  far  recovered  that  I  was  able 
to  travel  to  Pesth,  and  there,  under  skillful  surgical  treat- 
ment, I  was  again  restored  to  sound  health. 

About  a  year  later,  I  ordered  a  horsebroker  to  pur- 
chase two  horses  for  me.  It  was  market  day,  and  he 
drove  me  into  town,  to  the  horse  mart.  AYhat  was  my 
sui-prise  to  find  Mathis  there !  He  had  four  fine  looking 
animals  with  him,  two  of  which  he  offered  for  sale.  He 
recognized  me  at  once,  and  congratulated  me  on  my  be- 
ing restored  to  health. 


THE  TEPHILIN.  115 

A  price  for  his  horses  was  soon  agreed  on,  but  I  desired 
tiU  the  afternoon  to  try  them,  and  then  pay  for  them. 

"  Sir,"  said  Mathis  to  me,  "  I  am  going  farther.  Though 
I  am  in  want  of  money,  I  can  wait  yet  awhile.  At  the 
end  of  three  months,  I  shall  send  you  my  address,  and, 
if  the  horses  suit  you,  send  me  the  money  by  post." 

"  How  ?  "  I  exclaimed,  "  Do  you  not  return  to  Alma  ?  " 

"  No.  I  have  just  received  news  that  I  am  a  grand- 
father, and  I  can't  stay  here  any  longer.  I  am  about 
selling  out  my  stock  at  Ratany  and  Alma,  as  I  must  join  my 
beloved  children." 

Three  months  later,  I  sent  the  price  of  the  horses  to 
New  York,  where  Peter  and  his  wife,  child  and  father, 
were  spending  their  days  happily  on  a  well-stocked  and 
profitable  farm. 


THE    MEBI'S    DAUaHTER. 


THE    RABBI'S    DAUaHTER. 

A  TALE  OF  POLAND. 


-OOO^OOO- 


CHAPTER  L 

A    POLISH    RABBI, 

The  peace  of  Westphalia  had  just  concluded  a  series  of 
wars,  through  which  Central  and  Western  Europe  were 
thrown  into  confusion  and  devastation.  During  eighty- 
long  years  had  the  war  raged  in  the  Netherlands  ;  in 
thirty  years,  had  it  converted  the  blooming  fields  of  fair 
Germany  into  barren  wastes,  impeded  the  onward  march 
of  art  and  science,  and  robbed  populous  cities  of  their  in- 
habitants. After  long  and  stormy  assembhes  at  Munster 
and  Osnabrueck,  differences  were  stayed,  and  a  treaty  of 
peace  was  concluded.  Eastern  Europe,  however,  had 
comparatively  not  been  affected  by  these  long  struggles. 
But  it  was  reserved  for  the  kingdom  of  Poland  alone, — 
Poland  where  our  coreHgionists  most  especially  dwell, — : 
to  suffer  the  most  unspeakable  anguish,  to  see  terrible 
war  waving  its  flaming  torch,  bearing  to  all  death  and 
destruction,  misery  and  misfortune. 

Being  greatly  wronged  by  a  Polish  prince,  Horonzi,'the 
leader  of  the  Cossacks,  Chamil,  had  revolted  against  his 
ruler,  the  king  of  Poland.  Horonzi  had  previously  im- 
prisoned him,  and  desired  to  have  him  beheaded,  but 
having  succeeded  in  making  good  his  escape,  Chamil 
stirred  up  to  rebellion  the  professors  of  the  Grecian-Cath- 


120  THE  rabbi's  DAUGHTEK. 

olic  faith  against  the  Roman-CathoUc  Poles.  Finding 
his  httle  force  increasing  day  by  day,  until  twenty  thou- 
sand men  marched  under  his  banners,  in  order  that  he 
might  make  his  success  doubly  sure,  he  joined  with  the 
Tartars,  and  soon  faced  the  Pohsh  army  of  six  thousand, 
with  a  force  ten  times  ass  great.  The  issue  was  not  long 
uncertain.  Her  ai-my  being  routed,  the  whole  of  Poland 
was  exposed  to  invasion,  while  the  inhabitants  of  every 
grade  and  stamp,  (especially  the  Jews),  were  compelled 
to  submit  to  the  blind  fury  of  their  conquerors.  We  will 
not  delineate  the  atrocious  spectacles  that  must  have  met 
the  gaze  of  the  unhappy  Poles.  We  need  not  enumerate 
the  wi'etched  victims,  in  vain  laying  down  their  very  lives 
for  the  preservation  of  theii'  homes  and  kindred,  nor  men- 
tion the  ruined  and  desolated  cities,  or  the  dissolution  of 
large  congi-egations  by  war's  fierce  hand.  Let  us  rather 
tui'n  our  attention  from  such  ten-ible  occurrences,  and 
touch  upon  them  only  so  far  as  they  belong  to  the  coui'se 
of  our  narrative  ;  entering  upon  matters  of  a  quieter  na- 
ture. Let  us  approach  the  wretched  abode  of  one  of  the 
greatest  men  which  Israel,  so  prolific  in  that  particular, 
has  produced. 

In  a  Httle  house  in  the  Jewish  quarter  of  the  small  Li- 
thuanian city,  Priusk,  there  Hves  Rabbi  Sabbathai  Cohen 
and  his  family.  Following  the  Pohsh  custom,  Sabbathai 
maiTied  early.  His  wife,  Mmam,  is  a  great-grand-daughter 
of  the  celebrated  Rabbi  Moses  Isserles,  and  is  worthy  of 
her  distinguished  ancestiy,  pious  and  virtuous  as  the  an- 
cient prophetess  whose  name  she  bears.  Sabbathai's 
house  can  hardly  be  called  the  abode  of  high  fortune. — 
^Miriam  is  ill,  their  only  child,  Esther,  is  dehcate  and  fee- 
ble. We  see  the  Rabbi  standing  at  his  wife's  bedside; 
httle  Esther  is  near,  endeavoiing  to  check  her  hot  tears. 
The  Rabbi  holds  the  feverish  hand  of  his  sick  wife,  who 
has  just  awakened  from  a  disturbed  slumber. 

"Dear  husband,"  says  she,  "  I  fear  I  am  about  to  leave 
you  and  our  darling  child.  Do  not  check  me  ;  I  must 
tell  you  something  of  importance.  In  my  slumber,  I 
dreamed  of  my  grandfather,  who  bade  me  bid  you  *  fare- 
well !  *  and  speak  to  you  words  of  comfort  in  regard  to 
our  dark  future.  For  know,  over  you  and  our  child,  sad 
events  are  impending.    Yet  I  will  watch  over  you.    I  will 


THE   EABBI*S   DAUGHTER.  121 

supplicate  for  you  at  the  throne  of  the  Almighty,  and  I 
will  not  rest  until  I  have  placedyou  under  His  protection." 

She  sinks  back  exhausted  upon  her  bed.  The  Rabbi 
tries  to  offer  her  words  of  comfort  and  hope, — she  smil- 
ingly hstens  to  his  attempts  at  consolation. 

"  Beloved,"  said  she,  "  fortunate  was  I  to  be  thy  wife, 
but  this  boon  was  granted  to  me  only  for  a  brief  time. — 
Farewell,  beloved  husband !     Farewell,  my  sweet  Esther !  / 
God  protect  you  both !  " 

Her  weary  eyes  close,  her  voice  fails,  the  tender  heart 
of  an  affectionate  mother  ceases  to  beat,  the  soul  of  a 
good  woman  is  ascending  to  its  Maker,  and  as  the  Rabbi, 
weeping,  repeated  the  glorious  confession  of  Judaism, — 
Shemang  Yisroel,  the  dying  woman's  lips  moved  slowly, 
before  they  closed  forever. 


Weeks  passed  since  this  sad  event  The  Rabbi  sot^ht 
comfort  by  a  more  dihgent  study  of  the  Law.  Esther, 
thus  encountering  the  first  great  sorrow  of  her  hfe,  be- 
came very  ill ;  and,  while  she  was  lying  on  her  bed  of 
sickness,  he,  sitting  by  her  side,  studied  the  Talmud,  en- 
deavoring to  elucidate  a  knotty  point  in  one  of  its  diffi- 
cult chapters.  Engaged  in  deep  study,  he  did  not  hear 
a  certain  rumbling  noise  that  was  growing  more  and  m*ore 
distinct.  At  last,  shouts  of  terror  and  cries  of  anguish 
aroused  him,  and  he  started  from  his  seat.  "  Chamil  is 
coming !  The  Cossacks  1  The  Cossacks ! "  The  Rabbi 
opened  the  window,  and  was  terrified  to  find  smoke  rising 
from  dweUings  in  the  vicinity,  to  which  the  Cossacks  had 
set  fire.  Hastily  throwing  on  his  cloak,  and  wrapping  a 
blanket  around  his  child,  he  took  her  in  his  arms  and  left 
his  home,  taking  a  direction  contrary  to  thstt  which  the 
Cossacks  had  marked  by  their  confl,a^ations  and  rob- 
beries. 

It  was  Winter — and  Friday  afternoon.  The  Rabbi 
made  his  way  through  the  heavy  snow,  hurrying  to  reach 
the  forest  before  night-faU.  Behind  him  rose  the  wald 
songs  of  the  Cossacks,  commingled  with  the  painful  slirieks 
of  the  unfortunate  Poles.  Alarm  gave  the  Rabbi  super- 
human power;  and  just  as  the  sun  was  setting,he  entered 
11 


122  THE  rabbi's  paughter. 

the  friendly  forest,  and  placed  Lis  d^ar  burden  on  the 
gi'ound  at  the  foot  of  a  tree.  Sabbath  was  drawing  near 
— a  sad  Sabbath  ;  but  the  pious  Rabbi,  alone  in  the  wood, 
with  a  sick  cliild,  no  friendly  being  near,  stiU  thanked 
God  for  having  dehvered  him  fi'om  the  hands  of  the  rob- 
bers. He  said  the  Friday-evening  prayers,  and  in  his  de- 
votions he  found  some  consolation.  The  night  w^as  not 
very  cold,  and  the  warm  blanket  shielded  both  himself 
and  the  child,  whom  he  now  held  in  his  arms.  Poor  Es- 
ther was  in  a  high  fever,  and  moaned  imceasingly.  What 
could  the  Eabbi  do  ?  He  could  give  her  neither  drink 
nor  medicine,  but  he  endeavored  to  cheer  her  by  those 
little  endearments  •^hich  only  a  father  and  mother  can 
employ.  At  last  the  child  sank  into  a  deep  sleep — and 
woke  no  more  ;  and  at  daybreak  the  Eabbi  held  a  corpse 
in  his  arms. 

Poor  Eabbi !  Mother  and  child  dead,  he  was  now  alone 
in  the  world.  His  house  and  precious  books,  with  what- 
ever other  property  he  possessed,  had,  in  all  hkelihood, 
been  destroyed  by  the  invading  Cossacks.  For  a  time, 
despair  overcame  his  better  feehngs  ;  he  threw  himself 
by  the  body  of  his  dead  girl,  and  wished  he  might  die 
with  her.  But  it  was  Sabbath.  O,  sublime  hohday  of 
the  Lord,  what  a  strength  thou  hast !  What  an  influence 
dost  thou  exercise  over  the  passions,  especially  of  the  pious 
man!  Despair  fled  from  Eabbi  Sabbathai's  heart,  for  a 
feeling,  as  of  divine  rest,  feU  upon  him,  a  resignation  to 
the  will  of  God,  which  knows  of  no  complaint  or  hesitan- 
cy on  the  part  of  man. 

"  God  has  so  ruled,"  said  he,  "  His  holy  will  be  done  I " 

He  then  began  his  Sabbath  devotions,  recited  the  Sid- 
rah,  (portion  of  the  Law,)  and  reflected  upon  the  word  of 
God. 

Now,  dear  reader,  do  you  not  admire  this  remarkabfe 
man  ?  Picture  to  yourself  the  misery  into  which  he  had 
fallen,  the  many  hardships  and  misforiunes  he  was  com- 
pelled to  endui'e,  alone,  without  shelter  or  nourishment, 
on  a  cold  winter's  day,  aaid  the  corpse  of  his  only  child 
beside  him — nevertheless,  resigned  to  God's  decree,  he  re- 
members that  the  presence  of  the  Sabbath  forbids  him  to 
indulge  in  undue  lamentations  over  private  woes.  Thus 
Judaism  elevates  its  true  professors  above  earthly  cares^ 


THE   EABBl's   DAUGHTEK.^  123 

causes  them  to  cease  desparing,  regain  courage,  and  look 
fi-eely  and  cheerfully,  amid  all  their  affliction,  to  the 
throne  of  God. 

As  Kabbi  Sabbathai  was  about  to  recite  the  Moosaph 
prayers,  he  heard  the  sound  of  trumpets,  the  barking  of 
dogs,  and  the  treading  of  horses  as  they  tramped  through 
the  snow. 

"  Alas !  The  Cossacks  are  coming  here,  too,"  he  ex- 
claimed, and  he  was  forced  to  flee  again,  leaving  the  dead 
Esther  behind  him.  He  sought  temporary  protection  in 
a  cave,  where  he  remained  all  day,  thinking  that,  under 
the  cover  of  night,  he  might  leave  the  cave,  and  seek  the 
spot  on  which  he  had  left  his  child. 

What  was  his  astonishment  and  grief  to  find,  on  arriv- 
ing at  the  well-remembered  tree,  that  the  body  was  not  to 
be  found  !  The  moon  showed  traces  of  men  and  dogs, 
but  the  corpse  had  disappeared.  Perhaps  they  had 
buried  it  in  the  snow :.  he  examined  every  footstep  but  in 
vain. 

"  O,  Esther,  my  Esther,  where  art  thou  ?  May  I  not 
even  bury  thy  lifeless  body  ?  " 

He  had  lost  aU,  even  the  corpse  of  his  child :  his  God 
and  His  law  alone  remained. 


CHAPTER  11. 

SAVEDFROMDEA.  TH. 

Eabbi  Sabbathai  was,  however,  mistaken  in  supposing 
that  tlie  Cossacks  had  stolen  his  child's  body.  A  greater 
person  than  any  in  their  ranks  had  deprived  him  unwit- 
tingly of  the  sad  office  of  burying  his  dead  daughter.  . 
It  was  the  King  of  Poland  who  had  but  recently  defeated 
the  Cossacks  in  a  closely  contested  fight.  The  Cossacks 
in  their  retreat  had  surprised  and  plundered  the  Httle 
city  of  Priusk  ;  and  while  they  were  being  hotly  pursued 
by  the  Polish  General,  Ossohnski,  the  king  and  his  suite 
were  liunting  in  the  forest.  As  the  party  rode  in  the 
vicinity  of  the  tree,- at  v/hose  foot  the  child  was  lying,  the 
king  noticed  his  favorite  dog  suddenly  move  from  the 
path  which  they  were  all  taking,  spring  hito  the  thicket 


124  THE   KABBl's   DAUGHTER. 

near  by,  and  tlien  utter  that  peculiar  cry  which  dogs 
alwaj-s  indulge  in  at  the  sight  of  a  corpse.  He  sent  some 
of  Lis  servants  to  the  spot  from  which  the  ciy  proceeded. 
They  speedily  returned,  and  stated  that  there  lay,  at  the 
foot  of  a  neighboring  tree,  a  pretty  and  dehcate  girl,  who 
probably  had  died  on  her  flight  from  the  ill-fated  town 
which  the  Cossacks  had  so  ruthlessly  destroyed.  The 
king,  whose  curiosity  was  somewhat  excited,  approached 
the  body  himself,  and  was  curiously  struck  with  the  child's 
beautiful  ai)i3earance.  He  could  scarcely  beheve  that  so 
lovely  a  child  could  really  be  dead. 

"  Parcinski,"  said  he  to  his  physician,  who  was  one  of 
his  suite,  '''examine  that  child  and  see  whether  she  be 
still  ahve.  Use  all  your  skill  to  resuscitate  her.  It  is 
surely  the  daughter  of  some  Lithuanian  nobleman,  who 
would  be  ever  thankful  to  us  were  we  to  preserve  his 
child's  life." 

Parcinski  placed  his  hand  on  the  child's  bosom  and 
was  rejoiced  to  find  that  her  heart  still  beat,  although 
the  pulsations  followed  each  other  but  slowly.  So  he 
told  the  king  that  the  child  would  in  all  probabihty  re- 
cover, if  she  were  properly  cared  for.  One  of  the  attend- 
ants, at  the  king's  orders,  took  Esther  in  his  arms,  mount- 
ed his  horse,  and  the  party  thereupon  returned  to  the 
castle,  which  was  being  temporarily  occupied  by  the  roy- 
al family.  Restoratives  were  quickly  apphed  to  the  child, 
who,  in  a  short  time,  awoke  fi'om  her  death-trance,  but 
was  doomed  to  he  abed  for  weeks,  under  the  influence 
of  a  fever  whose  Tirulence  daily  threatened  her  hfe. 

Little  Princess  Mary,  the  only  child  of  the  king  and 
queen  of  Poland,  was  delighted  -^^ith  the  idea  of  having 
so  sweet  a  plaj-mate  living  in  the  house  viiih.  her,  of  the 
same  age,  and  of  so  lovely  appearance.  She  impatiently 
waited  for  the  day  when  it  would  be  aUowed  her  to  enter 
the  sick  chamber,  and  see,  and  caress,  the  little  stranger. 

There  is  a  strange,  magnetic  attraction  that  binds  the 
young  together.  Eank,  wealth  and  religion,  are  no  bar- 
riers in  its  way,  but  children  will  be  drawn  together  and 
love  each  other  despite  those  social  usages  and  laws  that 
separate  their  parents. 

At  last,  Esther  was  convalescent.  She  could  now  be 
asked  with  safety  respecting  her  family  and  foi'mer  life. 


THE  rabbi's  daughter.  125 

and,  as  usual  in  such  cases,  her  benefactors  were  not  loth 
to  be  fully  informed  as  to  her  name  and  history.  She 
told  them  her  simple  story,  how  that  her  father  was  a 
good  and  pious  rabbi,  her  mother  a  loving  wife  who  had 
died,  and  left  them  alone  in  their  little  hut ;  how  that  the 
cruel  Cossacks  entered  their  village,  and  drove  her  fath- 
er and  herself  into  the  woods,  where  she  was  overcome  by 
fatigue,  and  fell  asleep  at  her  father's  feet.  And  this  was 
all  she  knew  until  she  awoke  and  found  herself  lying  in 
this  comfortable  bed,  with  strange,  but  kind  faces  gazing 
at  her. 

"  So,  it  is  a  little  Jewess  that  I  have  saved,"  said  the 
king.  "  What  can  I  do  with  her  ?  Who  knows  who  her 
father  is,  or  where  he  has  fled  ?  " 

"  May  it  please  your  majesty,"  advised  Parcinski,  "what 
I  would  urge  is,  that  we  deliver  her  to  the  Jewish  com- 
munity, who  are  charitable,  and  who  will  care  for  her." 

"  No,  no !  father,"  cried  Httle  Mary.  "  Don't  take  this 
little  girl  from  me.  How  nicely  will  we  play  together  as 
scon  as  she  becomes  perfectly  well,  and  I  will  be  so  hap- 
py with  her.     Do  let  this  girl  of  the  wood  be  with  me." 

"  Let  us  please  our  child,  and  keep  the  little  waif  as 
long  as  she  gives  pleasure  to  our  daughter.  We  can 
christen  her  at  once,"  observed  the  queen,  which  result- 
ed in  the  desired  permission  being  obtained,  and  the 
king's  confessor  was  instructed  to  prepare  Esther  for 
baptism. 

A  few  days  after  this,  when  Esther  was  perfectly  restor- 
ed, a  little  event  occurred  which  raised  quite  a  commo- 
tion in  the  castle.  Up  to  this  time,  the  child  had  pa- 
tiently eaten  whatever  had  been  offered  her  by  her  at- 
tendant, but  now  she  positively  refused  to  eat  meats  and 
such  articles  of  food  a"s  her  rabbi-father  had  instructed 
her  were  forbidden  to  Israelites.  The  physician  was  told 
of  the  child's  freak  and  he  could  not  understand  how  one 
so  young  could  be  so  obstinate. 

"  Why  don't  you  eat,  you  little  simpleton  ?  "  said  he  to 
little  Esther. 

"  Because  God  forbade  us  to  eat  such  food." 

"  But  you  never  before  refused  to  eat." 

"  Because,"  answered  the  girl,  "  until  now  I  was  sick. 
And  I  remember  my  father  used  to  say,  when  my  poor 
11* 


126  THE    EABBI'S   DAUGHTER. 

motlier  was  so  unwell,  that  one's  life  must  be  preserved 
by  eating  any  food  ;  but  now,  as  I  am  well,  I  can  eat 
only  Jewish  food." 

The  doctor  said  no  more  to  Esther,  but  he  left  the 
room  impressed  with  this  idea,  that  it  was  high  time  tha"- 
Father  Cyril  began  his  work  of  christianizing  this  Httl« 
rebel. 

A  severe  trial  was  now  in  store  for  our  young  Jewess 
which  has  overcome  many  an  older  and  more  exiDcriencea 
head  than  hers.  The  priest,  Father  Cyril,  soon  entered 
her  room  and  proceeded  to  paint  in  the  usual  glowing 
colors,  the  simphcity  and  beauty  of  Christianity,  the  love 
its  foiuider  ever  bore  for  children,  especially  sti  angers' 
childi-en  such  as  Esther.  "  Your  father  has  left  you," 
said  the  priest,  "  never  to  see  him  again.  You  a^-e  dead 
to  him,  but  have  been  restored  to  new  life  by  the  gi'ace 
of  our  sovereign,  the  king.  You  are  therefore  his  crea- 
tm-e,  and  must  do  as  he  bids.  Now,  our  gracious  king 
commands  you  to  adopt  his  rehgion,  and,  therefore,  my 
child,  I  have  come  to  make  you  a  Chiistian  !  " 

But  Esther  made  no  reply,  save  that  she  cried  and 
moaned,  and  wished  she  had  died  before  they  brought 
her  to  this  house,  where  they  were  trying  to  make  her 
forget  her  dear  father  and  her  holy  rehgion,  and  she 
begged  the  Father  to  send  her  away  to  her  own  j^eople. 

It  is  no  wonder  that  Esther  so  boldly  "withstood  the 
advances  of  the  pi-iest.  At  this  time, martyrdom  among 
the  Jews  of  Poland  was  of  frequent  occuiTence.  The 
Cossacks,  whenever  they  took  Jews  captive,  offered  them 
the  choice  of  two  alternatives — either  to  be  baptized,  or 
to  suffer  an  immediate  death,  and  it  is  needless  to  add 
how  that  Jews  and  Jewesses,  j^oung  and  old,  heroically 
died  on  the  rack  or  at  the  stake,  protesting  till  ..he  end 
then-  behef  in  Israel's  God.  Every  Jewish  heart  vvas  fill- 
ed with  admiration  for  these  raai-tyrs,  fathers  depicted 
their  sufferings  in  vivid  colors  to  their  sons  and  daught- 
ers, and  so  inflamed  their  ardor  and  kindled  their  enthu- 
siasm for  Judaism,  that  they  would  all  have  met  death 
unflinchingly,  rather  than  subscribe  to  the  dominant 
faith.  We  need  not  be  sui-prised,  therefore,  that  one  so 
young  as  Esther  should  have  braved  the  fate  which  the 
cruel  words  of  the  jDriest  seemed  to  portend.     She  refused 


THE   BABBI'S   DAUGHTEK.  127 

to  listen  to  him  any  longer,  but  threw  herself  upon  her 
bed  and  sobbed  so  bitterly  that  the  Princess  Mary,  who 
was  in  a  room  near  by,  heard  her  cries,  and  hastened  to 
soothe  her. 

"  Little  Esther,  why  do  you  cry  ?  Who  wishes  to  hurt 
you?" 

Esther  could  not  answer,  but  simply  pointed  to  CjTil. 

"  Is  it  you,  Father  Cyril,  who  have  hurt  my  Esther  ?  " 
asked  Mary  wonderingly. 

"  Not  so,  my  daughter,"  calmly  rephed  the  priest,  "  I 
wish  to  make  her  happy.  She  shall  become  thy  sister, 
and  a  good  young  Christian  besides." 

"  And  don't  you  wish  it,  Esther  ?  "    Mary  asked. 

"  No,  no,  no  ! "  passionately  cried  Uttle  Esther,  "  I  will 
never  become  a  Christian.  I  will  remain  a  Jewess,  else  I 
wiU  die." 

*'  Hush,  dear  Esther,"  said  Mary  soothingly,  gently 
raising  her  and  kissing  her  hot  forehead,  "  He  will  not 
harm  you.  You  shall  be  my  own  dear  httle  sister.  Come 
with  me  in  the  garden  and  see  the  newly  blooming  flow- 
ers." 

Esther  smiled  amid  her  tears,  took  Mary's  proffered 
hand,  and  the  children  laughingly  passed  into  the  gar- 
den. 

But  Father  Cyril  was  spiritually  troubled.  He  sought 
the  king  and  related  his  adventure  to  him.  This  greatly 
vexed  the  king,  who  would  have  immediately  dismissed 
Esther  from  the  castle  had  it  not  been  for  the  urgent  re- 
monstrance of  his  queen,  who  would  not  for  the  world 
have  marred  the  peace  of  her  darling  Mary. 

And  Parcinski  likewise  interposed,  urging  that,  through 
a  systematic  education,  the  child  would  soon  be  induced 
to  adopt  the  Christian  faith,  that,  in  a  few  years,  Esther 
would  ask  as  a  special  favor  to  be  admitted  into  the  holy 
congregation. 

So  the  king  was  satisfied,  and  he  consented  to  retain 
Esther  as  the  inmate  of  his  house  and  the  playmate  of 
his  child.  And  thus  the  young  princess  and  the  uncon- 
verted Jewess  were  companions  and  friends  for  years. 


128  THE   EABBI'S  DAUGHTER. 

CHAPTER  III 

LIFE   IN    THE    PALACE. 

On  the  return  of  the  court  to  Cracow,  the  Polish  cap- 
ital, Esther  accompanying  the  royal  party,  the  queen  de- 
termined that  her  child's  playmate  should  not  be  deprived 
of  the  food  such  as  she  knew  her  heart  must  hunger  af- 
ter. So  every  day,  a  poor  Jewish  widows  known  in  the 
city  as  old  Hannah,  cdled  at  the  palace  w  ith  a  basketful 
of  meats  and  vegetables,  such  as  the  httle  Jewess  could 
eat  without  compunction.  Of  course,  the  Jews  of  Cra- 
oow  soon  learned  from  Hannah  the  strange  fact  that 
there  was  a  young  girl  of  their  race  living  at  the  palace, 
and  their  curiosity  was  rather  excited  as  to  who  she  was 
and  how  she  fell  into  such  noble  company.  Old  Hannah 
had  frequent  talks  with  her,  but  she  discovered  nothing 
that  could  give  any  clue  as  to  who  her  father  was,  save  that 
he  "vs^as  a  learned  man,  who  had  fled  with  many  others 
from  Priusk,  doubtless  to  meet  death  from  the  Cossacks, 
or  from  what  was  hardly  worse,  starvation. 

Esther  rajDidly  grew  in  bodily  strength  ;  her  beauty 
was  the  subject  of  general  praise.  Mary,  too,  was  grow- 
ing prettier  daily,  but  hers  was  a  more  fragile  and  fairer 
beauty.  The  two  friends  improved  in  their  studies,  the 
mind  of  Esther,  descended  as  she  was  from  so  illustrious 
a  line  of  savans,  expanded  more  freely  than  Mary's,  w^ho 
acknowledged  without  any  regret,  that  Esther,  in  her 
childish  words,  knew  more  than  she  did. 

A  little  incident  now  occurred  which  seemed  to  change 
the  relations  between  Esther  and  the  household.  One 
day,  when  the  governess  and  children  were  in  the  gar- 
den, Father  Cyr^  approached  the  group,  and  he  and  the 
governess  left  the  friends  together  while  they  promenad- 
ed the  garden  in  close  converse.  Mary  and  Esther  sat 
down  on  a  bench  in  the  garden  comer,  and  were  soon 
engaged  in  the  pleasant  pastime  of  making  wreaths  out 
of  the  flowers  and  evergreens  that  grew  in  profusion 
around.  Suddenly, Esther  sprang  up  with  a  loud  shriek. 
The  governess  and  priest  hurriedly  ran  to  learn  its  cause. 


TEE   RABBIS   DAUGHTER.  129 

Around  the  neck  of  the  unsuspecting  princess,  a  poison- 
ous viper  was  slowly  encircling  itself.  'J'he  priest  quickly- 
seized  it  and  flung  it  to  the  ground.  The  governe-s,  on 
perceiving  the  danger  from  which  her  princess  had  just 
escaped,  fainted.  Esther  wept  with  tears  of  joy,  but  felt 
supremely  happy  when  little  Mary  embraced  her,  kissed 
her  again  and  again,  and  said  she  would  never  forget  her 
dear  friend  who  had  saved  her.  The  little  scene  attract- 
ed the  king  and  queen  and  several  of  their  retinue,  who 
Xvere  also  walking  about  the  palace  grounds.  Esther  was 
quickly  hailed  as  a  heroine.  The  kind  queen  wept  with 
emotion,  calling  her  her  dear  daughter,  for  whose  future 
happiness  she  would  not  fail  te  provide.  The  king,  no 
less  affected,  kissed  her  on  the  forehead — and  Esther  at 
once  became  a  general  favorite. 
Was  it  for  her  welfare  ? 


The  years  roUed  on.  As  the  physician  had  predicted, 
Esther's  feelings  underwent  great  changes.  Her  childhood 
and  its  exciting  scenes,  were  almost  effaced  from  her 
memory.  Old  Hannah,  who  still  supphed  her  food,  could 
give  her  no  instruction  in  Judaism.  She  read  her  pray- 
ers regularly  from  the  Hebrew  prayer-book  which  the 
widow  had  years  ago  procured  for  her.  But  the  Hebrew, 
and  the  mixed  Jewish-German  dialect  in  which  some 
other  devotional  works  in  her  possession  were  written, — 
were  alike  uninteUigible  to  her.  She  had  forgotten  the 
language  in  which  she  and  her  father  could  converse  in 
olden  times.  Gradually  she  became  attracted  to  the 
scenes  and  faces  around  her.^  The  family  prayers — for 
the  king  was  strict  in  religious  matters — the  pretty  church 
which  they  all  attended,  the  priest  Cyril  who  had  so  kind 
a  word  for  everybody,  all  these  circumstances  drew  her 
farther  and  farther  from  the  Jewish  associations  which 
she  had  so  long  cherished.  A  few  years  ago, no  one  was 
friendly  with  her,  excepting  Mary.  She  felt  isolated, — 
and  longed  to  see  her  lost  father.  In  sadness  she  thought 
of  her  dead  mother — and  wished  herself  far  away  from 
the  splendor  of  the  palace,  preferring  the  humble  hut  in 
which  she  had  passed  her  happy  childhood.     But  now. 


130  THE   EABBl's   DAUGHTER. 

since  slie  had  become  the  court  favorite,  she  no  longer 
yearned  to  be  away.  Now  she  was  as  a  piincess  herself. 
The  servants  ran  to  do  her  bidding.  She  was  treated  as 
a  daughter  by  both  king  and  queen,  and  to  all  appear- 
ances Mary  and  she  w^ere  as  devoted  sisters.  She  no 
longer  thought  of  the  past,  but  occasionally  beheld  the 
future  -with  teiTor. 

What  would  become  of  her,  were  she  to  persist  in  her 
ancestral  behef  ? 

A  poor  decrepit  Jewess  is  passing  the  palace  gates, 
worn  down  under  the  load  of  a  bundle  of  old  clothes. 
Will  that  be  her  fate  ? 


The  two  giiis  were  now  in  their  fifteenth  year.  Mary 
was  soon  to  bo  betrothed  to  a  young  and  amiable  piince. 
Her  prospects  were  indeed  bright.  Before  her  betrothal, 
it  was  necessary  by  the  law  of  the  kingdom  that  she  should 
receive  confirmation  and  become  more  marked  in  her  ad- 
herence to  her  faith.  To  give  her  final  instruction  in  the 
doctrines  of  Christianity,  a  young,  comely  and  ingenuous 
priest  was  selected.  He  spoke  long  and  earnestly  with 
her,  in  Esther's  presence,  of  the  beauties  and  promises 
of  Christianity,  of  the  di\ine  attributes  and  tragic  suffer- 
ings of  its  founder.  Eloquently  and  impressively,  he  pic- 
tured to  the  young  girls  the  blessings  which  this  religion 
of  love  would  confer  upon  its  professors.  Mary  was  deep- 
ly affected  by  his  discourse  ;  and,  on  his  departure,  she 
burst  into  tears. 

"  O,  Esther,"  she  cried,  "  be  my  sister  in  truth — my  sis- 
ter in  faith.     Be  altogether  mine  !  " 

Esther  gently  unbound  the  anns  which  were  in  fond- 
ness clasping  her  neck,  and  sorrowfully  left  the  room. 
Her  heart  was  full.  She  must  be  alone.  She  sought  a 
reth'ed  spot  in  the  garden,  and  there,  covering  her  face 
with  her  hands,  she  cried  bitterly. 

Suddenly,  her  sobs  ceased.  A  vision,  as  it  were,  ap- 
peared before  her,  and  she  saw,  as  in  a  dream,  her  pale, 
sick  mother  fondly  beckoning  to  her.  Her  father,  with 
the  Talmud  open  before  him,  was  regarding  her  with  a 
look  of  tenderness. 

"  My  dear  father,  my  poor  dead  mother !    Shall  I  be 


THE   EABBIS   DAUGHTEE.  131 

separated  from  you  ?  Shall  I  forget  you — "  and  a  flood 
of  tears  again  choked  her  utterance. 

Two  gentle  arms  embraced  her,  a  rosy  mouth  kissed 
away  her  tears,  and  Mary,  who  had  followed  her  in  the 
garden,  said  : 

"  Esther,  dear,  do  not  weep.  I  would  not  for  the  world 
cause  you  pain.  You  are,  and  will  always  be,  my  sweet 
sister,  even  if  you  will  not  become  a  Christian.  But,  dear 
sister,  if  you  only  would  consent  to  adopt  our  faith,  it 
would  be  so  much  for  your  good.  My  father  would  at 
once  grant  you  a  dowry,  and  then  you  would  marry  some 
noble,  and  thus  we  could  always  be  together.  But,  if 
you  wiU  remain  a  Jewess,  what  is  to  become  of  you?  " 

And  Esther  simply  answered,  "  O  Mary,  I  can  never 
leave  you ! " 

"  Then  ycU  will  become  a  Christian  ?  "  Mary  joyously 
cried. 

But  Esther  could  not  reply. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

CHANGE    OF    FORTUNE. 

One  summer  afternoon,  Mary,  Esther  and  their  govern- 
ness,  were  driving  together  in  the  king's  carriage.  The 
day  being  pleasant,  they  were  driven  at  a  rapid  rate  in 
the  outskirts  of  the  city  and  neared  the  forest.  The  fiery 
steeds  dashed  along,  the  driver  giving  them  full  rein,  and 
the  occupants  of  the  carriage  were  considerably  exhilara- 
ted, chatting  together  gaily  when,  suddenly,  the  axle 
broke  and  the  carriage  was  dashed  to  the  ground.  Hap- 
pily no  one  was  hurt,  although  they  were  all  stunned  by 
the  shock. 

A  storm  was  approaching.  The  sky  was  rapidly  becom- 
ing encu'cled  by  heavy  clouds,  and  the  bhnding  dust  and 
wind  were  forerunners  of  a  heavy  rain.  It  was  with  de- 
light that  they  discovered  an  inn  near  by,  which  they  at 
once  entered  to  seek  temporary  shelter.  The  horses,  de- 
tached fi'om  the  debris  of  the  carriage,  were  likewise  sta- 
bled in  the  welcome  inn. 

At  this  time,  in  Poland,  aU  the  tavern-keepers  were 
Jews.     It  was  only  recently  that  there  were  but  two 


132  THE   EABBl's   DAUGHTER. 

classes  in  Poland,  noblemen  and  serfs,  the  Jews  being  a 
"  middle  "  class,  tradesman  and  mechanics,  and  especial- 
ly inn-keepers. 

The  inn-keeper  of  the  inn  in  which  the  royal  party  had 
taken  refuge,  was,  of  course,  dehghted  with  his  guests. 
Be  sent  his  son  at  once  to  Cracow,  to  inform  the  family 
of  the  accident  w4iich  had  happened  to  the  caiTiage,  and 
to  state  that  it  was  so  near  sundown,  tljat  the  party  would 
remain  in  the  inn  over  night. 

In  thp  meantime  the  storm  broke.  For  rain  came 
down  in  torrents,  vivid  flashes  of  lightning  pierced  the 
gloom  which  had  settled  around,  and  loud  peals  of  thun- 
der startled  the  travelers,  especially  the  volatile  govern- 
ess who,  hke  all  her  class,  was  superstitious  and  timid  in 
the  presence  of  God's  "instruments  of  WTath."  Mary 
occupied  herself  with  quieting  the  governess'  fears,  while 
Esther  descended  into  the  httle  parlor  of  the  inn,  which 
had  now  assumed  a  festive  appearance,  it  being  Friday 
night,  the  host  and  his  family  being  dressed  in  their  holi- 
day clothes,  hghted  candles  adorning  the  mantel,  and  a 
massive  Sabbath-lamp  occupying  the  centre  of  a  substan- 
tially decorated  table. 

To  Esther's  imagination,  she  was  in  a  Heavenly  abode. 
Her  past  hfe  rushed  before  her  \dsion  as  in  a  dream. 
Her  father,  her  mother,  and  a  young  child,  in  which  she 
recognized  herself,  were  partaking  of  their  rustic  meal. 
And  this  was  the  Holy  Sabbath  eve. 

Esther  was  standing  timidly  b}  the  door.  She  feared 
to  disturb  the  family,  as  they  were  saying  their  Sabbath 
prayers.*  At  last,  the  children  rose  to  receive  their  fath- 
er's blessing.     Esther's  heart  beat  fast  within  her. 

"Bless  me  too,  father,"  cried  she  appeahngly.  The 
family  saw  the  strange  young  lady  among  them  and  were 
somewhat  astonished. 

"  O,  lather,  for  the  love  of  God,  give  me  a  blessing.  I 
am  a  Jewess,  vdthout  father  or  mother,  and  I  am  dying 
lor  some  one  of  my  faith  to  speak  to  me  words  of  com- 
fort." 

The  host  was  deeply  affected.  He  had  half  suspected 
that  the  dark,  Jewish-looking  girl  with  the  princess  was 
that  heroine  of  whom  almost  all  Poland  had  heard,  and 
now  he  had  found  that  his  suspicions  were  correct. 


THE   RABBIS   DAUGHTER.  133 

"  Don't  weep,  my  dear  young  lady.  Thank  God,  you 
are  safe  from  the  storm  and  are  now  with  us.  We  shall 
spend  a  pleasant  Sabbath  together"  —  and  placing  his 
hands  on  Esther's  bowed  head,  he  said  solemnly  : — 

"  My  daughter,  may  God  make  thee  like  Sarah,  Re- 
becca, Eachcl  and  Leah !  May  He  guard  thee  from  all 
evil!" 

"  Amen,"  added  Esther  in  a  low  but  firm  voice,  and 
she  resolved  fr'om  this  moment  never  to  yield  to  the  win- 
ning words  of  her  associates,  but  to  be  ever  faithful  to 
her  God  and  His  true  faith. 

The  next  morning,  Mary  and  the  governess  returned 
to  the  palace,  but  Esther  remained  at  the  inn  all  day,  and 
made  good  use  of  the  few  hours  in  which  she  was  in  the 
company  of  the  worthy  host  and  his  family,  listening  with 
eagerness  to  the  religious  truths  which  the  good  inn- 
keeper unfolded  before  her,  and  obtaining  knowledge  re- 
specting such  subjects  as  had  troubled  her  untutored 
heart.  And,  early  on  Sunday,  a  royal  escort  accompa- 
nied her  back  to  Cracow. 


It  was  night  in  the  palace.  All  had  retired.  Esther's 
room  connected  with  the  apartment  which  princess  Mary 
and  the  governess  occupied.  These  two  were  in  sound 
slumber,  but  Esther  could  not  sleep.  During  the  d*ay, 
which  was  about  two  months  after  the  Sabbath  that  she 
had  spent  at  the  inn,  the  king  and  queen  had  both  spok- 
en to  her  in  regard  to  Mary's  confirmation,  and  had 
told  her  that  they  would  all  be  so  happy  if  she  would  but 
consent  to  become  a  Christian.  She  had  not  answered 
them,  but,  sobbing,  had  asked  them  both  to  give  her  fur- 
ther time  for  reflection.  Mary,  too,  had  urged  her  con- 
version, and  the  young  priest  had  argued  with  her  in  the 
afternoon.  What  could  she  do  to  remain  true  to  her 
faith  ?  But  one  path  seemed  open  to  her,  and  that  was 
to  escape,  co  run  away  fro'm  the  friends  she  had  known 
and  loved  so  many  years,  but  who  now  were  endangering 
her  soul's  happiness.     She  must  escape.     But  how? 

There  was  a  loud  knock  at  the  door  of  the  adjoining 
room.  Mary  awoke  in  affright,  and  called  the  governess. 
12 


134  THE   EAEBI*S   DAUGHTER. 

"  Awake,  awake !  The  palace  is  on  fire ! "  They  were 
teiiified. 

"  Open  the  door.     Save  yourselTes  !  " 

Hun'iedly  throwing  on  their  shawls,  they  opened  the 
door  and  iiished  out. 

Esther  stood  as  if  inspired. 

"  At  last,  I  can  free  myself !  "  she  cried. 

She  rushed  to  the  window  and  opened  it.  The  palace 
was  all  ablaze.  The  air  was  thick  with  smoke  which  was 
already  filling  Maiy's  room. 

"  Now  can  I  escape  unnoticed.  If  they  miss  me,  they 
will  beheve  I  perished  in  the  flames,  and  they  will  no 
more  persecute  me." 

The  fiery  brightness  of  the  burning  palace  illumined 
all  around.  In  front  of  the  window,  there  stood  a  tree 
whose  branches  she  could  readily  grasp.  And  just  as 
Mary  and  Esther  had  often,  by  means  of  these  branches, 
swung  themselves  fr'om  the  room  to  the  garden,  so  did 
Esther  now.  She  reached  the  ground  in  safety.  At  one 
end  of  the  garden  was  a  httle  gate  which  led  to  the  high- 
way. She  could  thus  easily  reach  a  neighboring  village 
and  there  conceal  herseK  iVith  some  Israehte  family  un- 
til a  favorable  opportunity  could  be  presented  whereby 
she  might  leave  for  a  foreign  country,  where  her  know- 
ledge of  the  languages  and  of  music,  would  be  of  advant- 
age to  her  towards  obtaining  a  hvelihood,  and  thus  re- 
main faithful  to  the  behef  of  her  fathers. 

These  thoughts  ocupied  her  as  she  ran  to  the  gate. 
Should  this  be  closed,  she  would  be  compelled  to  retui-n. 
She  presses  the  latch — it  yields  to  her  touch  ;  the  gate 
opens,  and  Esther  stands  in  the  open  street,  fr'ee  at  last. 

Out  into  the  gloomy  night,  out  upon  the  lonely  road, 
Esther  walked  rapidly.  The  burning  palace  shed  a  fear- 
ful hght  over  her  path,  and  she  hun'ied  on,  hardly  know- 
ing whither  to  go,  but  inwardly  oppressed  with  fear  lest 
wolves  or  robbers  should  attack  her,  or  lest  her  strength 
should  give  way,  and  she  should,  weary  and  footsore, 
stQk  to  the  ground — as  yeai's  before  she  had  fainted  in 
her  father's  arms,  when  the  Cossacks  drove  them  from 
their  native  city. 


THE   EABEl'S   DAUGHTEE.  135 

The  palace  was  doomed.  All  human  exertions  had 
failed  to  check  the  devouring  element,  and  the  affrighted 
people  expected  to  see  the  walls  totter,  and  the  once 
shapely  palace  become  a  mass  of  blackened  ruins. 

"  I  am  only  glad."  said  the  king,  "  that  no  human  life 
has  been  lost." 

Mary  looked  anxiously  around. 

"  Where  is  Esther  ?  "  she  cried,  in  alarm. 

They  looked  for  the  missing  girl,  calling  her  name  loud- 
ly ;  but  to  no  purpose.  The  governess  was  certain  she 
had  left  her  room  with  them,  and  was  now  in  the  garden ; 
but  no  Esther  could  be  found.  Mary  wept  bitterly. 
The  kmg  ordered  some  of  the  servants  to  search  Esther's 
room,  but  it  was  no  longer  possible  to  enter  it,  for  the 
tree  in  front  of  the  window  could  no  more  be  ascended  ; 
it  was  ah'eady  in  flames.  And  now  it  was  certain  that 
the  girl  was  lost :  the  only  being  in  the  palace  whom  the 
Hames  had  seized  as  their  living  prey. 

The  queen  fondly  embraced  her  child,  rejoicing  that 
she  had  been  preserv^ed  ;  but  the  poor  princess  cried  sad- 
ly after  her  Ipst  friend,  and  would  not  be  comforted. 


CHAPTER  V. 

AMONG    THE    ROBBEES. 

"When  Kabbi  Sabbathai  returned  to  the  spot  where, 
as  he  supposed,  his  dead  child  lay,  and  discovered  to  his 
grief  that  the  body  was  removed,  he  gave  vent  to  bitter 
lamentations.  He  ran  through  the  woods,  frantically 
calhng  her  name,  and  praying  to  God  that  he  might  once 
more  see  his  beloved  child.  He  retraced  his  steps  to 
Priusk,  but  found  the  city  a  mass  of  ruins.  His  grief 
gradually  subsided,  and  his  strong  religious  feelings  soon 
reconciled  him  to  his  loss  ;  but  he  never  forgot  his  child. 
He  wandered  through  Lithuania  and  Poland.  Wherever 
he  mentioned  his  name,  he  was  received  with  distin- 
guished favor,  for  the  Kabbi  was  widely  known  as  a  man 
of  gi'eat  talents,  profound  learning,  and  a  true  religious 
disposition.  Every  congregation  he  visited  desired  to 
have  him  as  their  teacher  and  guide,  but  he  declined  all 


136  THE  rabbi's  daughter. 

offers.  It  was  his  Esther  he  was  in  search  of,  not  pecu- 
niary happiness, — for,  by  a  certain  strange  presentiment, 
he  fancied  he  should  some  day  or  other  see  his  child 
alive  and  well. 

At  last,  he  yielded  to  the  repeated  solicitations  of  the 
Jewjsh  congregation  at  Hollischau,  in  Moravia,  and  be- 
came their  Eabbi.  He  repaired  to  that  city,  and  soon  be- 
came endeared  to  the  community,  whom  his  accession 
benefited,  as  their  previous  guide  had  not  fulfilled  his 
sacred  trust  in  a  manner  that  contributed  to  the  welfare 
of  his  flock.  But  Esther  was  still  in  the  Rabbi's  thoughts  ; 
and,  although  after  a  few  years'  r-esidence  in  Holhschau, 
he  married  an  estimable  Jewess,  and  was  blessed  with  a 
son  that  inherited  his  goodness  of  heart,  he  often  reverted 
to  the  sad  night  of  his  bereavement,  and  prayed  God  to 
grant  him  a  speedy  reunion  ^vith  his  lost  daughter. 

One  day,  a  poor  Polish  Jew,  whom  he  had  invited  to 
dine  with  him,  chanced  to  relate  at  the  table  the  singu- 
lar incident  that  was  the  talk  aU  over  Poland — how  that 
a  little  Jewess  found  by  the  king,  in  the  woods,  was  now 
an  inmate  of  his  palace,  treated  like  a  princess,  and  yet 
refused  to  eat  at  the  royal  table. 

The  next  morning,  the  Eabbi  started  for  Cracow,  hop- 
ing that  this  Jewess  might  be  his  lost  child.  On  reach- 
ing Cracow,  he  learned  that  the  court  had  left  the  capi- 
tal for  Lithuania.  Of  com-se,  the  Rabbi  followed,  bent 
upon  this  one  object,  to  see  his  daughter — if  only  the 
favored  being,  now  the  guest  of  the  king  of  Poland,  could 
be  his  daughter. 

The  Rabbi  proceeded  slowly  on  his  journey.  Although 
well  acquainted  with  the  road,  his  mind  was  so  wholly 
occupied  with  varied  thoughts  respecting  his  daughter, 
his  mission  on  her  behalf,  and  the  loved  ones  he  had  left 
avv'aiting  him  in  Hollischau,  that  he  did  not  perceive  that 
he  was  entering  a  thick  wood,  which,  report  said,  was  in- 
fested by  robbers.  The  sun  had  set,  and  the  Rabbi  failed 
to  see  the  wood  closing  around  him,  making  it  impossi- 
ble for  him  to  retrace  his  steps,  or  even  to  walk  on  much 
farther.  At  last  he  awoke  to  a  sense  of  his  position  as  a 
traveller  who  had  lost  his  way,  and  with  his  returning 
consciousness  came  the  recollection  that  this  was  a  wood 
beset  with  dancrers.     Stran^re  stories  had  reached  his  ears 


THE   RABBIS   DAUGHTER. 


137 


of  dreadful  depredations  and  horrible  assassinations  com- 
mitted ;  of  travelers  who  had  left  their  homes  in  the  af- 
ternoon in  full  hope  and  spirits,  being  found  dead  the 
following  morning.  He  was  by  no  means  a  timid  man  : 
he  had  seen  trouble  enough  in  reality  to  start  hke  a  child 
when  hearing  old  nursery  tales  of  horror  ;  but  instinctive- 
ly his  heart  gave  a  sudden  bound,  and  he  wished  he  had 
never  made  the  journey. 

A  light  glimmered  in  the  distance.  He  followed  it,  and 
his  terrified  gaze  beheld  a  band  of  fierce,  blood-thirsty 
men,  gathered  around  a  table  in  a  large  cave,  in  which 
the  flickering  hght  of  a  rude  lamp  but  added  to  the 
gloom.  "  These  must  be  robbers, "  was  his  natural 
thought,  and  he  quickly  retraced  his  steps,  as  if  to  re- 
treat from  the  threatening  danger.  But  the  trained  hear- 
ing of  the  men  detected  his  hurried  tread.  They  soon 
ran  out  after  him. 

"  What  do  you  wish  here,  Jew  ?  " 

Answered  the  poor  Kabbi,  "I  am  a  harmless  traveler. 
Having  lost  my  way  m  the  wood,  I  followed  a  light  which 
I  saw  glimmering  through  the  foliage,  and  thus — but  I 
am  truly  sorry  if  I  disturbed  you." 

"  Not  so,"  cried  one  of  the  robbers.  "  You  are  a  spy. 
You  were  in  search  of  us,  and  discovered  our  hiding 
place.  But  it  was  a  sad  day  for  you  that  tempted  you  to 
start  out  in  quest  of  our  band.  You  shall  die — and  very 
soon."  * 

In  vain  did  the  Rabbi  attempt  to  reason  with  the  men, 
to  convince  them  that  he  was  a  preacher,  and  had  no  in- 
tention of  seeking  their  place  of  concealment  and  now, 
having  discovered  it,  of  betraying  them  to  the  authorities. 
They  would  not  be  convinced :  they  had  decided  that  he 
was  a  spy,  and,  of  course,  he  must  be  such.  His  arms 
were  tightly  bound  behind  him,  his  scanty  purse  was 
emptied  of  its  contents,  and  he  lay  at  the  mercy  of  his 
captors.  His  doom  was  apparently  sealed,  for  the  rob- 
ber who  had  before  called  him  a  si)y,  now  raised  his  axe 
alott  and  was  about  to  bury  it  in  the  neck  ot  the  unof- 
fending Sabbathai,  when  another  robber  cried  : 

•'  Hold,  Wenzislaw !  You  dare  not  kill  him  yet.  You 
know  our  captain  is  strict  in  his  enforcement  of  this  law 
of  his,  that  he  is  the  head  and  judge  of  our  band,  and  it 
12* 


138  THE  rabbi's  daughter. 

is  for  liim  to  condemn  or  acquit,  and  no  one  else.  So 
drop  your  axe,  and  take  the  man  to  our  cave  until  tlie 
captain  arrives." 

The  fellow  yielded  to  the  advice  of  his  less  impatient 
companion,  and  the  men  carried  the  Rabbi  into  the  cave, 
placmg  him  in  its  extreme  end,  and  resumed  their  cards 
and  cups,  from  "which  Sabbathai's  luckless  coming  had 
disturbed  them. 

Sabbathai  was  perfectly  resigned  to  his  fate.  Pious 
man  that  he  was,  he  spent  the  few  moments  of  grace  left 
him  by  reason  of  the  absence  of  the  robber-captain,  in 
prayer. 

At  last,  the  barking  of  a  dog  broke  upon  the  stillness 
of  the  night. 

"  Good !  here's  the  captain,"  cried  the  robbers,  and,  as 
they  spoke,  a  tall,  athletic  and  fine  looking  man  entered 
the  cave,  followed  by  his  boon  companion,  a  huge  mas- 
tiff. The  "  captain,"  as  the  robbers  called  him,  was  at- 
tired like  a  Lithuanian  nobleman. 

"  WeU,  my  lads.     What  day  have  you  had  ?  " 

"  Bah !  nothiug  at  all,  save  an  old  Jew  and  a  couple  of 
guilders,"  said  Wenzislaw,  who  appeared  the,  boldest  of 
the  lot.     "  But  you,  captain,  what  fortune  have  \ou  liad  ?" 

**Not  much.  I  captured  a  young  woman,  however, 
whose  ransom  will  be  rather  considerable.  She  will  he 
here  shortly,  under  charge  of  Willusch." 

Suddenl}^  the  robbers  were  startled  by  hearing  a  voice 
call  out  fi'om  the  rear  of  the  cave,  "  Ratislaw !  " 

"  Who  dares  call  that  name  here  ?  "  angrily  demanded 
the  captain.     "  Whom  have  j^ou  here,  Wenzislaw  ?  " 

"  Oh,  that  is  the  old  Jew  we  caught  spying  out  our 
cave.  I'll  quiet  him.  I  wished  to  put  an  end  to  his  vil- 
lainous life  before,  only  good  Jenka  did  not  like  to  see 
him  hurried  out  of  existence.     Curse  the  Jews." 

The  captain  trembled. 

"  O,  Ratislaw,  save  me,  save  me !  Think  of  the  time 
w^hen  I  rescued  you  fi'om  danger." 

Without  a  word  the  robber  rushed  to  the  spot  from 
whence  the  voice  proceeded,  unbound  the  captive,  and 
assisted  him  to  a  seat  by  the  table. 

"  Can  it  be  you,  my  Sabbathai — my  old  friend  ?  " 

He  kissed  the  Rabbi's  hand,  and,  with  a  voice  broken 


THE  rabbi's  daughter.  139 

with  emotion,  said  :  "  Sabbathai,  Sabbathai,  you  are  the 
only  one  who  ever  pitied  me  in  those  troubles  of  my  life, 
which  have  driven  me  to  the  career  I  now  lead." 


Years  ago,  before  Sabbathai  had  entered  upon  the  du- 
ties of  a  Rabbi's  office,  he  had  been  a  well-to-do  merchant 
in  Leipsic,  and  there  he  had  met  Ratislaw,  the  playmate 
of  his  youth,  the  son  of  a  proud  Lithuanian  nobleman. 
Ratislaw  was  extravagant,  and  speedily  became  involved 
in  large  debts.  With  a  generosity  that  the  naturally  sen- 
sitive heart  of  Ratislaw  could  well  appreciate,  the  Jewish 
merchant  paid  his  debts,  and  the  young  nobleman  left  the 
country.  He  met  with  many  a  change  of  fortune,  became 
feckless,  and  at  last  joined  a  small  band  of  robbers  who, 
in  admiration  of  his  personal  accomplishments  and  dar- 
ing bravery,  elected  him  their  captain.  His  name  and 
early  history  were  unknow^n  to  them,  which  will  explain 
his  anger  at  hearing  some  stranger  call  him  by  a  name 
which  he  had  not  heard  for  years.  On  recognizing,  in  his 
captive,  his  playmate  and  generous  friend,  he  was  deeply 
affected.  He  briefly  rehearsed  the  events  of  his  life  since 
his  residence  in  Leipsic,  how  that  misfortune  had  befallen 
him,  and  at  last  he  had  resigned  aU  hope  of  leading  a  life 
like  the  rest  of  mankind,  but  had  become  a  bandit,  trust- 
ing that  amid  the  excitement  of  such  a  career  he  might 
forget  what  he  was  and  what  he  might  have  been. 

With  the  eloquence  of  which  he  was  so  capable,  Sab- 
bathai pictured  to  the  bandit  the  grand  error  into  which 
he — as  with  other  misguided  men — had  fallen.  He  re- 
minded him  of  his  early  life  and  long  friendship,  of  their 
companions  and  the  happy  scenes  of  their  youth ;  and 
then  he  sternly  pointed  to  the  numberless  crimes  that  had 
forever  stained  his  life  and  disgraced  the  noble  name  he 
bore.  Overcome  by  the  Rabbi's  words,  the  captain  lost 
all  control  of  his  feelings,  but  covered  his  face  with  his 
hands,  and  wept  bitterly. 

The  robbers  could  not  understand  why  their  bold  chief 
should  thus  disgrace  his  calling  as  to  weep  tears  of  pen- 
itence. 

"  Are  you  an  old  woman,  captain,  or  a  coward  to  be 


140  THE  rabbi's  daughter. 

thus  talked  over  by  a  Jew  ?  Remember  the  oath  yon  and 
we  have  sworn." 

"  Are  you  to  remind  me  of  our  oath,  Wenzislaw?"  cried 
the  captain,  rising  in  a  sudden  passion.  "  Silence,  I  com- 
mand you,  or  I'll  run  my  dagger  through  your  insolent 
body." 

"  Captain,"  said  Jenka,  firmly.  "  I  have  always  been 
obedient  and  faithful  to  jou.  Three  times  have  I  saved 
your  life.  Don't  be  a  cluld,  then,  but  send  this  babbHng 
Jew  away.  You  know  you  dare  not  leave  us,  and  his  be- 
ing here  T\ill  but  give  us  unnecessary  trouble,  and  you  a 
deal  of  anxiety." 

"  You  are  right,  good  Jenka.  It  must  be  so,"  said  Rat- 
islaw,  in  a  sorrowful  tone.  "Sabbathai,  friend  of  my 
youth,  I  am  chained  here,  and  must  with  these  men  con- 
tinue a  life  from  which  now  I  turn  with  a  dread  I  never 
before  experienced.  Go,  then.  Leave  us.  And  when 
you  have  heard  that  Fate  has  at  last  taken  captive  the 
chief  of  this  robber-band,  then  utter  a  prayer  in  my  be- 
half. Pray  for  me  to  the  Almighty,  who  avenges  wrong- 
doing, but  is  also  gi-acious  and  merciful.  Here,  Sabba- 
thai,  is  the  money  my  men  took  from  you,  and  now,  fare- 
well I — Jenka,  conduct  the  Rabbi  as  far  as  the  highway, 
and  see  that  he  meets  with  no  harm." 

And  thus  the  Rabbi  parted  with  the  robbers  ;  arriring 
the  foUo^ving  morning  at  a  neighboring  village,  where  he 
found  a  hospitable  Israehte,  at  whose  house  he  stayed  un- 
lil  he  felt  sufficiently  refreshed  to  proceed  on  his  home- 
ward journey.  On  arriving  at  HoUischau,  the  sad  report 
reached  him  of  the  burning  of  the  palace,  at  which  the 
only  human  being  sacrificed  was  the  young  Jewess,  whom 
he  had  before  fondly  hoped  was  his  Esther.  This  last 
blow,  combined  with  the  excitement  he  underwent  at  the 
robbers'  cave,  prostrated  him,  and  for  weeks  he  lay  on  his 
bed,  so  sick  that  his  hfe  was  despaired  of. 

Strange  fatality  !  The  Rabbi  was  rejoiced  to  leave  the 
cave  of  the  robbers,  and  fervently  thanked  God  for  his 
escape.  Had  he  remained  one  short  hour  more,  he  would 
have  found  his  long  looked-for  daughter. 

And  Esther,  did  she  know,  as  she  was  led  terrified  into 
the  cave,  that,  but  a  brief  hour  before,  her  own  dear  fath- 
er was  its  inmate  ? 


THE    PvAEBIS    DAUGHTER.  3  41 

For  the  woman  of  whose  capture  Katislaw  had  inform- 
ed his  band,  was  no  less  a  being  than  Esther,  the  rabbi's 
daughter. 


Katislaw  had  met  Esther  while  she  was  wearily  walk- 
ing her  lonely  way,  the  day  after  that  disastrous  fire  that 
so  suddenly  separated  her  from  the  good  royal  family, 
which  had  grow  n  so  hateful  to  her,  since  they  had  begun 
again  to  w^orry  her  about  her  religious  belief.  The  rob- 
ber asked  her  who  she  was,  but  she  simply  answered  that 
she  was  a  poor  orphan  who  had  run  away  from  cruel  rel- 
atives. Their  names  she  would  not  give,  although  Katis- 
law asked  her  frequently  about  them,  because  he  surmis- 
ed the  girl  would  bring  him  a  handsome  ransom.  He 
thought  her  obstinate  silence  would  not  last  long — the 
cave  and  its  disagreeable  inmates  would  soon  make  her 
communicative — and  sure  of  a  large  ransom,he  placed  her 
in  charge  of  Willusch  and  rode  on  in  advance,  in  the  man- 
ner we  have  above  described. 

When  Esther  shortly  afterwards  entered  the  cave  and 
sat  down  on  the  seat  which  her  father  had  so  recently  oc- 
cupied, she  was  surprised  at  the  dejected  appearance  of 
the  captain,  who  had  undergone,  since  last  she  met  him, 
so  great  a  change.  He  sat  by  the  table,  his  listless  ap- 
pearance betraying  the  bitter  reflections  that  the  Eabbi's 
words  had  raised  wdthin  him.  He  did  not  speak  for  some 
time,  and  it  was  only  when  Willusch  touched  his  should- 
er, and  told  him  that  the  girl  he  had  met  in  the  Avoods 
'vas  in  his  presence,  and  he  wished  to  know  what  should 
be  done  with  her,  that  he  became  himself  again. 

"Come  here,  girl,"  said  he,  abruptly.  Her  beauty 
seemed  to  have  excited  his  admii'ation,  for  he  gazed  on 
her  for  some  time  before  adding, 

"  Answer  truly  the  questions  I  will  ask  you." 

Esther  trembled,  and  a  flush  of  crimson  dyed  her  face 
and  neck,  as  she  noticed  the  ardent  look  of  the  dread 
robber. 

"Your  name,  child  ?  " 

"  My  name,  sir,  is  Esther." 

"  Who  was  your  father  ?  " 

"A  Jewish  rabbi." 


142  THE  rabbi's  daughteb. 

"  A  rabbi's  daughter  ?  How  can  that  be  ■when  your 
rich  di*ess  betokens  tiiat  you  are  of  a  noble  family. 
Si)eak  the  truth."  - 

"It  is  true,  sir,  I  am  a  rabbi's  daughter,"  answered 
Esther  calmly,  "  but  the  relatives  with  whom  I  have  been 
living  for  many  years  are  rich  and  powerful.  They 
wished  me  to  abjure  my  faith.  This  I  could  not  do,  so  I 
fled  from  them." 

"  "VMio  are  these  relatives  ?     Where  do  they  live?  " 

"  I  wiU  not  tell  you.     I  will  never  return  to  them." 

"  Not  tell  me  ?  Girl,  are  you  not  aware  that  I  have 
the  power  tc  make  you  tell  ever3i.hing  I  ask  ?  I  am  a 
robber  chief,  and  hate  mankind.  I  can  force  you  to 
speak,  and  what  resist?  nee  can  a  girl  like  you  offer  ?  " 

"  I  can  die,"  she  firmly  rephed.  "  I  am  a  Jewess ;  and 
many  girls,  young  as  I  am,  have  died  for  their  rehgion." 

The  brave  gii'l  daunted  Ratislaw  somewhat  by  her  re- 
ply. He  merely  answered,  "  Do  not  speak  in  that  way. 
Miss  Esther.  We  kill  here  for  money  and  not  for  re- 
ligion." 

The  robber  Jenka  now  approached  Ratislaw,  and  said 
to  him  quietly,  '  Captain,  why  not  keep  the  girl  here  for 
yourself.  She  will  make  your  evenings  agi'eeable  to  you, 
after  your  days  of  hard  labor.  We  are  all  lonely  men 
here.  It  wiU  be  an  excellent  idea  to  have  so  young  and 
handsome  a  gii'l  as  this  Jewess  to  keep  us  company.  I 
am  your  trusty  servant,  and  I  will  see  that  no  one  of  us 
will  harm  her.     She  shall  be  kept  for  you  alone." 

This  suggestion  seemed  to  please  Ratislaw,  who  at 
once  drew  nearer  to  Esther,  and  in  a  gentle  voice  said  to 
her,  "My  child,  how  would  you  like  to  hve  with  us  for- 
ever?" 

She  shrank  from  him  in  alarm. 

"  Do  not  be  fiightened,  my  dear.  I  wish  you  to  love 
me,  not  to  be  terrified  at  my  words.  You  shaU  be  my 
wife — my  queen.  A  himdred  brave  men  will  attend  you 
to  do  your  eveiy  bidding.  You  shall  have  as  much  gold 
and  jewelry  as  your  heart  may  desire,  and  we  shall  trans- 
form this  rude  cave  into  a  home  of  dehght,  where  Love 
and  Joy  shall  reign  supreme !  " 

His  cruel  Avords  struck  a  strange  terror  to  the  heart  of 
the  innocent  gii'l.     She  fell  on  her  knees  before  him,  and 


THE   rabbi's   daughter.  143 

sobbed,  "Kill  me  at  once,  but  do  not,  I  pray  you,  force 
me  to  any  TVTong !  " 

"  Do  not  mind  her,  captain,"  said  the  robbers.  "  You 
will  not  have  the  lite  chance  again.  There's  no  finer  girl 
in  Poland." 

Esther  stood  erect.  She  raised  her  hand  aloft,  and 
said  in  a  firm  voice  : 

"  Chief  of  a  murderous  band !  There  is  an  Almighty 
God  above  us,  who  sees  all  that  is  being  done  here  this 
day.  He  is  the  Avenger  of  evil  deeds,  but  He  is  also  mer- 
ciful and  compassionate.  Be  merciful  unto  me,  if  you 
wish  Him  to  have  mercy  for  you !  " 

"  Girl,"  said  Katislaw,  in  a  loud  tone,  "  who  has  put 
these  words  into  your  mouth?  Not  an  hour  ago,  did  I 
hear  them  spoken  by  a  friend  of  my  youth.  For  his  sake 
I  will  spare  you.  I  will  send  you  to  Wilna,  and  shall 
there  expect  a  ransom  from  the  Jews.  But  you  are  safe 
while  here.  Listen,  men,  whoever  does  to  her  the  least 
harm,  will  die  by  my  hand !  " 

He  gently  bade  her  "good  night!"  and  told  "Willush 
to  prepare  a  resting-place  for  her  in  an  adjoining  room. 
He  accompanied  Esther  tcJ  the  door,  and  gave  her  the 
key,  bidding  her  lock  it  from  within.  She  thanked  him 
earnestly  for  his  kindness,  but  he  hastily  left  h,er,  saying 
to  himself,  as  he  lay  down  on  his  rough  bed  that  night, 
"  O,  Sabbathai,  even  you  wiU  be  pleased  with  me  when 
you  learn  what  I  have  done  this  day  for  a  daughter  of 
your  people ! " 


Early  the  next  morning  Jenka  left  the  cave  with  a  let- 
ter from  Katislaw  addressed  to  the  Jews  of  Wilna,  and 
containing  this  proposition,  that,  on  the  payment  of  3000 
florins,  he  would  deliver  to  the  Jewish  community  a 
young  Jewess  whom  he  held  captive.  ; 

The  letter  was  dehvered  to  the  Chief  Rabbi,  who,  on 
reading  it,  immediately  convened  a  meeting  of  the  prin- 
cipal Israelites  of  Wilna,  and  laid  the  unusual  message 
before  them.  Quite  a  lengthy  discussion  arose  among 
them,  the  wealthy  men  decHning  to  spend  so  large  a  sum 
on  a  subject  about  which  they  knew  nothing,  as  Batislaw^ 


144  THE  rabbi's  daughter. 

ignorant  himself  in  the  matter,  could  not  state  who  or 
what  her  family  was,  or  whither  she  was  going  when  he 
had  taken  her  captive. 

At  last,  a  young  but  learned  and  respected  Rabbi, 
named  Menachem,  offered  to  pay  the  entire  sum  himself, 
since  the  community  seemed  unwilling  to  release  a  sister 
Israelite  fi'om  captivity.  Of  course  his  offer  was  ac- 
cepted, and  Menachem  accompanied  Jenka  to  a  spot 
midway  between  Wilna  and  the  robbers'  cave,  where  Ka- 
tislaw  and  Esther  met  them.  The  money  was  promptly 
paid,  and  Esther,  on  being  presented  to  her  generous 
benefactor,  thanked  God  for  His  kindness,  in  raising  for 
her  so  good  a  dehverer.  TearfuUy  she  expressed  her 
gratitude  to  Menachem,  and  begged  him  to  make  her  his 
slave — anything,  rather  than  send  her  back  to  the  rob- 
bers, or,  what  she  feared  worse,  the  King  of  Poland  and 
his  court. 

Eabbi  Menachem  .spoke  tenderly  to  her,  assuring  her 
that  she  would  find  friends  in  Wilna  who  would  care  for 
and  protect  her.  The  grief  of  the  lonely  girl,  for  heart- 
felt gratitude  to  him  for  rescuing  her,  and  her  child-hke 
terror  lest  it  was  all  a  dream,  and  she  would  soon  wake 
to  see  the  teiTible  robbers  glaring  at  her,  strangely  af- 
fected him,  and  he  was  heartily  glad  when  he  arrived  at 
the  door  of  his  comfortable  home  in  "Wilna,  and  there  in- 
troduced the  trembhng  girl  to  his  sister,  with  whom  he 
had  been  hving  since  their  parents  died,  a  few  years 
before. 

"  Don't  weep,  my  child !  "  she  gently  said.  "You  are 
at  home,  now,  with  kind  friends,  whose  constai.t  care  will 
be  to  give  you  every  comfort.  You  shall  be  my  younger 
sister,  and  many  will  be  the  joyous  hours  which  we  shall 
spend  together.  I  never  had  a  sister,  although  good 
Menachem  has  been  both  sister  and  brother  to  me." 
And,  imprinting  a  soft  kiss  upon  the  unresisting  cheek  of 
the  fair  girl,  she  led  her  to  her  own  neat  room,  which 
they  were  to  occupy  together. 

"  Dear  lady ! "  cried  Esther,  "  do  not  send  me  away. 
I  will  be  so  glad  to  assist  you  in  any  way.  May  I  be 
your  sister  always,  to  love  you  and  thank  you  for  your 
goodness?  I  lost  my  poor,  dear  mother,  when  I  was  a 
little  child,  and  my  father  was  dead  to  me  soon  after,  and 


THE   KABBl's   DAUGHTER.  145 

yours  is  the  first  kind,  loving  face  I  have  seen  since.  Oh, 
lady,  I  cannot  believe  this  is  real !  It  is  too  much  hap- 
piness to  be  true !  Kiss  me  again,  to  assure  me  that  I 
am  not  dreaming,  but  that  I  am  at  last  with  good,  kind 
friends,  who  will  shelter  me  from  harm !  " 

And  Yetta  wound  her  arms  around  Esther's  neck  and 
kissed  her  tenderly,  smoothing  her  disordered  locks,  and 
smilingly  bidding  her  to  prepare  for  supper ;  for  Mena- 
chem  was  ravenously  hungry,  having  eaten  nothing  since 
the  morning, — but  being  also  eager  to  see  his  Esther, 
whom  he  had  adopted  that  happy  day  as  his  younger 
sister. 

Under  the  kind  care  of  her  friends  Esther  soon  forgot 
her  sufferings,  and  recovered  her  cheerful  spirits.  As 
she  ripened  into  womanhood,  the  charms  of  her  well- 
stored  mind  were  displayed,  and  Yetta  and  Menachem 
rejoiced  at  the  gift  God  had  sent  them.  Menachem  had 
loved  Esther  from  the  first  time  he  saw  her,  but  he  at 
first  supposed  it  was  pity  for  her  forlorn  condition  that 
caused  him  to  regard  her  with  a  tenderness  to  which  he 
had  hitherto  been  a  stranger.  To  one  of  Esther's  loving 
and  impulsive  nature,  so  good  and  kind  a  benefactor  and 
friend  as  the  learned  Eabbi  Menachem,  would  not  long 
remain  without  inspiring  her  with  a  feeling  above  mere 
gratitude  and  sisterly  affection,  so  that  it  created  no  sur- 
prise in  Wilna  when  the  report  became  general  that  the 
good  rabbi  had  asked  the  lovely  Esther  to  be  his  bride. 

And  just  one  year  after  her  rescue  from  the  robber's 
cave,  Esther  became  the  happy  wife  of  Wilna's  gifted  son. 
Rabbi  Menachem.  Blessed  with  a  devoted  husband,  a 
gentle  and  never-failing  adviser  in  her  sister-in-law,  Yetta, 
and  beloved  by  a  host  of  friends,  Esther  was  still,  at 
times,  unhappy.  There  was  one  fond  desire  that  was  to 
be  satisfied,  and  then  she  would  be  perfectly  contented. 

"  Ah,  my  dear  Menachem !  "  the  young  wife  would  say, 
"  I  am  indeed  grateful  to  God  for  the  blessings  He  has 
granted  me,  but  could  He  bestow  on  me  but  one  more 
boon  ;  could  He  but  restore  to  me  my  dear  lost  father, 
then  I  could  cry,  'Enough,  O  God!  I  am  too  blessed. 
Inchne  thine  ear  to  the  supphcations  of  those  of  thy 
creatures  who  are  less  fortunately  conditioned  than  I ! " 
13 


146  THE   RABBI*S   DAU6HTEB. 

But  can  that  father  be  fomid?  Is  the  weary,  bereaved 
man  yet  alive?  or  has  he  succumbed  to  his  many  mis- 
fortunes and  disappoiatments,  and  has  left  this  world  to 
join  his  dearly  beloved  wife  iu  the  regions  above  ? 


CHAFTER  VI. 

KE-UNITED. 

"Wilna  was  in  sore  trouble.  Prince  Paul  Radzivil,  who 
was  supreme  ruler  in  Lithuania,  had  just  returned  to  the 
city  from  a  foreign  tour,  which  he  had  undertaken  with 
his  young  bride.  His  purse  was  somewhat  empty  by 
reason  of  a  late  war  with  the  Swedes,  which  had  made 
great  iuroads  in  the  treasury. 

At  that  time,  whenever  a  monarch  or  government  was 
in  need  of  pecuniai-y  supplies,  caused  by  extravagance, 
pestilence,  or  a  war  of  heavy  proportions,  there  was  gen- 
erally one  source-  from  which  to  be  reimbui'sed,  which 
never  failed  them — the  Jews.  AVTiether  in  England, 
France,  Germany,  or  httle  Poland,  it  was  the  same.  The 
Jews  were  supposed  to  possess  the  wealth  of  nations,  and 
perforce  they  must  resign  their  unfortunate  gains,  and 
patriotically  support  the  kind  and  Hberal  governments, 
under  whose  beneficent  rule  they  were  privileged  to  dwelL 
Occasionally,  one  or  two  rich  Jews  would  serve  as  scape- 
goats for  their  brethren.  The  king  would  levy  on  their 
jewelry  and  money,  so  that  it  often  happened  that  the 
rich  Jewish  banker  of  to-night  was  in  the  morning  as 
poor  as  the  beggar  on  whom  yesterday  he  had  bestowed 
alms, — and  poorer,  for  he  had  the  recollection,  the  har- 
rowing remembrance,  of  riches  forever  lost,  to  be  ever 
before  him,  and  clog  his  future  efforts,  while  the  beggar's 
thought  was  simply  as  to  whom  he  will  next  apply  to 
for  aid. 

It  was  no  unusual  thing,  therefore,  for  the  happy  family 
of  banker  Metz,  to  be  awakened  at  dead  of  night  by  a 
rude  and  imperious  knocking  at  their  doors,  an  imme- 
diate entrance  demanded,  or  forced,  "  in  the  name  of  his 
blessed  Majesty,"  and  the  trembling  Metz  commanded, 
under  pain  of  death,  to  tmlock  his  coffers,  and  calmly 


THE  rabbi's  daughter.  147 

transfer  their  contents  to  the  tender  hands  of  the  law's 
myrmidons. 

At  other  times,  congregations  and  communities  would 
be  taxed  a  heavy  amount,  with  the  choice  of  either  pay- 
ing by  a  stated  period,  or  of  expulsion  from  their  homes, 
and  an  involuntary  exile  into  whatever  country  would 
deign  to  give  them  shelter. 

So  at  Wihia.  The  Prince's  proclamation  stated  to  the 
bewildered  inhabitants,  that  "  Whereas,  it  was  necessary 
for  the  well-being  of  our  beloved  country,  that  one  hun- 
dred thousand  ducats  should  be  in  her  treasury  by 
March  1st ;  therefore,  it  is  required  of  the  Jews  of  Wilna 
that  they  produce  that  sum  at  the  palace  on  or  before 
that  period,  otherwise  the  Prince  wiU  take  such  measures 
against  the  Jews  as  his  judgment  may  dictate." 

One  hundred  thousand  ducats !  Such  was  the  figure  ; 
no  more,  no  less.  And  the  Jews  alone  were  caUed  upon 
to  pay  for  a  war  which  had  been  waged  in  behalf  of  the 
common  weal.  The  Prince  was  remonstrated  with  by 
the  dignitaries  of  the  town,  who  urged  that  the  Jews 
were  ever  a  law-abiding  people,  a  credit  to  the  city,  in 
charities  unbounded,  in  politics  patriotic  equally  with 
themselves  and  the  other  good  Christians  of  the  town, — 
but  Paul  would  Hsten  to  no  argument.  He  had  issued 
his  proclamation,  and  he  would  abide  by  it.  The  ladies 
of  the  Jewish  community  waited  on  the  princess,  who  re- 
ceived them  kindly,  but  unequivocally  stated  that  she 
was  powerless  in  the  matter,  as  her  husband  had  strictly 
forbidden  her  to  interfere. 

What  were  the  Jews  to  do  ?  They  were  in  truth  not  a 
rich  community.  They  were  wholly  unable  to  raise  the 
required  sum,  and  the  prince  was  inexorable  in  his  deter- 
mination to  take  no  less,  and  give  no  extension  of  time. 

What  could  they  do  ? 

All  the  temporal  authorities  had  been  appealed  to, 
without  success.  There  was  then  but  one  course  left,  in 
the  wisdom  of  the  rabbis — to  appeal  to  Heaven.  This 
the  people  did  -with  a  will.  The  synagogues  were  never 
attended  by  a  more  numerous  or  a  more  devout  audience. 
The  rabbis  appointed  several  days  to  be  devoted  wholly 
to  fasting  and  praying,  and  the  troubled  Jews  did  as 
their  rabbinical  advisers  recommended. 


143  THE   EABBI*S   DAUGHTER. 

In  Rabbi  Menachem's  house  there  was,  of  course, 
great  affliction.  It  was  the  wealthier  class  that  would 
suffer  in  the  matter.  He  knew  this,  and  he  was  sorely 
perplexed  as  to  how  to  act.  He  ha<i  just  been  telling  his 
wife  of  the  fruitless  interview  of  some  ladies  of  the  city 
with  the  princess,  when  Esther,  as  if  by  a  strange  instinct, 
inquired  who  the  princess  was,  her  name  and  fe-mily. 

"^Vhy,  have  you  not  heard?  She  is  the  Princess 
Mary,  the  only  daughter  of  our  king !  " 

Esther  was  somewhat  astonished  at  this.  She  could 
not  beheve  that  her  Mary,  her  old  playmate,  was  the  wife 
of  the  oppressor.  At  the  same  time,  the  news  gave  her 
strong  hopes  that  she  might  yet  be  instrumental  in  avert- 
ing the  evil  decree. 

"  I  will  visit  the  princess  to-day,  Menachem,"  she  calmly 
said  to  her  husband. 

"  And  what  good  will  that  do  ?  "  asked  the  rabbi. 

Menachem  also  became  somewhat  hopeful  when  his 
wife  related  to  him  her  former  connection  with  Mary,  her 
life  at  the  palace,  and  her  escape  therefrom.  Menachem 
now  knew  for  the  first  time  what  a  heroine  his  pretty 
wife  was. 

"  Oh,  Esther,  can  it  be  that  I  have  for  my  wife  that 
famous  heroine,  whose  name  is  known  far  and  wide — the 
king's  adopted  daughter,  a  princess  by  right  if  not  by 
blood,  but  a  vahant  Jewess  who,  for  the  sake  of  her 
belief,  withstood  temptations  such  as  beset  no  other 
daughter  of  Israel  ?  How,  O  God,  have  I  deserved  this 
blessing  ?  " 

He  had  loved  his  wife  before — ^now  he  worshipped  her. 

"  Go,  with  God's  blessing,"  he  said.  "  May  the  Lord 
look  with  favor  on  your  undertaking !  " 

And,  as  Esther  rode  through  the  palace-gate,  how 
quickly  did  her  heart  beat !  She  would  be  in  a  moment 
in  the  presence  of  her  old  friend,  as  a  being  risen  from 
the  dead ! 


In  the  sumptuous  drawing-room  of  Prince  Paul's  man- 
sion, the  young  Princess  Radzivil  was  engaged  in  writing 
a  letter  to  her  parents,  depicting  in  glowing  terms  the 


THE  rabbi's  daughter.  149 

charms  of  her  wedded  life,  the  love  and  constancy  of  her 
husband,  her  joy  and  contentment.  Just  as  she  was  con- 
cluding her  letter,  a  servant  entered  the  room,  stating 
that  there  was  a  Jewess  in  the  hall  who  begged  an  au- 
dience with  her  highness. 

"Alas,  it  is  the  old  story !  "  said  Mary.  "  Some  other 
poor  woman  has  entered  my  house  to  worry  me  with  a 
subject  about  which  I  am  po  werless.  TeU  this  Jewess, 
Cathinka,  I  cannot  receive  her." 

The  maid  departed,  but  soon  returned.  "  Your  high- 
ness, this  woman  will  not  go.  '  She  says  she  has  no  favor 
to  beg  of  you,  but  would  simply  impart  to  you  a  matter 
of  great  importance." 

"  Let  her  enter." 

As  Esther,  closely  veiled,  entered  the  room  and  beheld 
her  old  companion  sitting  before  her,  looking  so  gentle 
and  charming,  she  could  not  avoid  giving  vent  to  tears 
of  joy. 

"  You  are  weeping,  good  lady,"  the  princess  said  mildly. 
"  I  am  indeed  sorry  I  cannot  assist  you.  The  prince  has 
strictly  forbidden  me  to  interfere." 

Esther  answered  in  a  low  voice,  "  I  did  not  wish  to 
speak  of  that  sad  affair,  your  highness.  I  would  only 
give  you  some  information,  which  I  beheve  will  interest 
you.'* 

"Well?" 

"  Your  highness  once  had  a  companion,  who  was  sup- 
posed to  have  perished  in  the  flames  of  the  burning 
palace." 

"  Is  she,  then,  aHve  ? — Oh,  speak,  madam,  and  assure 
me  that  my  Esther  did  riot  perish." 

Esther  could  no  longer  restrain  herseK.  She  threw  off 
her  veil,  fell  on  her  knees,  seized  the  princess's  hand  and 
covered  it  with  hot  kisses.  "  O,  Mary,  Mary,  do  you  not 
know  me?    I  am  the  lost  Esther !  " 

Mary  had  recognized  her  well-known  features  as  soon 
as  her  veil  bad  been  removed.  Her  joy  at  meeting  her 
old  playmate  was  unbounded.  She  embraced  her  again 
and  again,  and  as  soon  as  her  composure  had  been  suf- 
ficiently restored,  she  begged  Esther  to  relate  to  her  the 
story  of  her  Hfe  since  their  List  meeting.  Then  Mary 
told  Esther  of  her  engagement  and  recent  marriage  to 


150  THE  rabbi's  daughter.  - 

the  prince,  whose  talents  and  virtues  she  lauded  to  the 
skies. 

Esther  shuddered  at  the  mention  of  the  prince,  and  as 
Mary  continued  to  recount  her  praises  of  his  character, 
she  sobbed  violently. 

"  I  know  the  cause  of  your  weeping,"  said  the  princess ; 
"but,  beheve  me,  your  husband  shall  not  suffer." 

"  And  do  you  think,"  asked  Esther,  "  that  we  could  be 
content  while  our  comuanions  and  friends  were  plunged 
in  distress  ?  " 

"  Then  we  must  contrive  a  plan  whereby  you  may  aU 
be  saved.  But  how  can  I  begin  ?  I  dare  not  interfere 
in  the  matter — so  I  have  promised.  *  I  know  these  Jews,' 
said  prince  Paul,  *they  wiH  beset  you  with  entreaties,  and 
your  good  heart  will  not  be  able  to  answer  them  in  the 
negative.  Give  me  your  promise  that  you  will  have 
nothing  whatever  to  do  with  them.'  And  I  accordingly 
promised.  "What  shall  we  do  ? — I  have  it !  You  your- 
self, beautiful  and  talented  Esther,  must  play  the  advo- 
cate's part." 

"  "What  is  your  plan,  dear  princess  ?" 

"  It  is  simply  this. — You  are,  it  is  true,  a  Jewess,  but 
you  have  the  manners  of  a  queen.  You  are  to  come  here 
on  a  visit  to  me,  not  as  a  Jewess,  but  as  a  friend  of  my 
youth,  the  '  Princess  Jablonska.*  You  are  to  dress  in  the 
latest  Parisian  style.  The  prince  will  see  you  with  me, 
and  will  treat  you  with  every  mark  of  respect.  Then, 
when  a  favorable  moment  may  offer,  you  can  speak  as 
eloquently  as  your  heart  and  good  sense  may  dictate,  and 
I  know  you  will  not  plead  in  vain.  But  be  quick.  You 
must  be  with  me  before  Paul  returns  from  the  hunt.  I 
shall  let  my  maid  in  the  secret,,  so  that  she  may  not  be- 
tray us." 

A  few  moments  later,  a  travelling  trunk,  filled  with  the 
choicest  of  the  princess's  ward-robe,  was  placed  on  Es- 
ther's carriage,  and  she  and  the  maid  rode  rapidly  back 
to  Menachem's  house.  Having  entered,  Esther  quickly 
explained  matters  to  her  husband,  and  ascended  to  her 
dressing-room,  where  the  clever  maid,  Cathinka,  soon 
transformed  her  into  a  stylish  lady  of  fashion,  attired  in 
the  extravagant  mode  of  the  period.  Meanwhile,  Mena- 
chem  had  ordered  an  elegant  state-chariot,  with  hveried 


THE   rabbi's   daughter.  161 

footmen,  to  be  in  waiting  at  the  house  ;  and,  shortly  after, 
the  neighbors  were  astonished  to  see  the  Rabbi  open  wide 
his  door,  and  there  pohtely  assist  some  unknown  but 
wealthy  lady — apparently  belonging  to  the  nobility, — to 
enter  the  elegant  carriage. 

The  prince,  on  returning  to  the  palace,  was  immedi- 
ately informed  by  his  wife  of  the  expected  visit  of  a  bosom 
friend  of  hers,  the  Princess  Jablonska,  who  would  prob- 
ably arrive  that  very  evening.  Paul  had  frequently  heard 
mention  of  the  princess,  who  had  been  for  several  years 
one  of  the  ladies  of  the  court.  He  expressed  himself 
highly  pleased  to  make  her  acquaintance,  and  asked  hig 
wife  many  questions  concerning  her  disposition  and  ap- 
pearance, to  which  Mary,  of  course,  gave  willing  answers. 

At  last,  the  "Princess"  arrived.  Mary  greeted  her 
with  a  sisterly  embrace,  dnd  introduced  her  to  her  hus- 
band, who  gave  her  a  cordial  and  respectful  welcome. 
The  prince  was  enraptured  over  the  distinguished  beauty 
and  grace  of  his  visitor.  The  princess,  too,  marvelled  at 
the  wondrous  change  which  the  skillful  hands  of  Cathinka 
had  wi-ought.  Cathinka  had  indeed  accomplished  a  mas- 
terpiece, and  in  Esther  the  recollections  of  her  life  at  the 
royal  palace  were  suddenly  awakened,  so  that  she  played 
the  part  of  a  lady  of  honor  to  perfection — her  own  inbred 
grace  and  dignity  being  of  no  little  advantage  to  her. 
The  three  conversed  in  an  animated  strain  for  some  time. 
Esther  surprised  herself  by  the  facihty  with  which  she 
spoke  Erench — ^which  was  then  the  language  of  the  court. 
Prince  Paul  was  truly  charmed  with  her  grace,  beauty 
and  talents.  The  plan  of  the  princess  Mary  had  thus  fai 
succeeded  admirably. 


152  THE  rabbi's   DAUGHTEE, 


CEAFTER  VU. 


CONCLUSION, 


During  Esther's  stay  at  the  palace  she  had  ample  op- 
portunity of  displaying,  before  her  royal  hosts,  the  rich 
possessions  of  her  well-stored  mind.  Under  the  yigoroUs, 
early  training  of  her  father,  her  subsequent  Hberal  edu- 
cation at  the  palace,  her  mind  had  rapidly  expanded ; 
but  it  was  due  to  the  instruction  received  at  a  more  ma- 
ture period,  at  the  house  of  the  loving  brother  and  sister, 
that  Esther  became  instilled  so  thoroughly  in  the  prin- 
ciples and  beauties  of  the  Jewish  religion.  Urged,  as  she 
had  expressly  been,  to  embrace  Christianity,  she  felt  an 
uncontrollable  desire  to  be  deeply  versed  in  the  spii'it  and 
laws  of  her  own  faith,  in  order  to  meet  the  insidious  at- 
tacks in  future  of  any  zealots  that  might  attempt  to  con- 
vert her. 

The  present  age  has  the  reputation  of  bemg  a  halcyon 
period,  when  men  and  women  are  educated  to  a  point 
never  before  attained  ;  but,  in  the  good  old  times,  although 
the  lower  class,  and  frequently  the  nobility,  were  steeped 
in  ignorance,  bigotry  and  superstition,  there  were  many 
women,  of  Esther's  stamp,  who  had  studied  with  an  ardor 
and  a  success  that  are  strangers  to  our  modern  female 
academies. 

The  prince  took  great  delight  in  the  vivacity  ana  depth 
of  Esther's  conversation,  for  the  time  forgetting  his  pas- 
sionate love  of  the  chase,  and  spending  every  spare  hour 
in  the  company  of  the  devoted  friends.  Mary  was  sur- 
prised at  the  changes  which  a  few  years  had  made  in 
Esther's  appearance  and  manners. 

Let  us  not  forget  that,  at  the  period  to  which  tnis  nar- 
rative has  arrived,  the  sun  of  tolerance  and  liberality  had 
not  shed  its  beneficent  rays  over  the  world.  The  over- 
bearing spirit  of  rehgious  fanaticism,  it  is  true,  had  some- 
Avhat  subsided — thirty  years  of  destructive  war,  waged 
on  account  of  religious  hatred,  had  taught  the  nations  a 
severe  lesson.  Locke  and  Liebnitz  had  not  yet  pro- 
[  ounded  their  theoric!^,  nor  were  "N'oltaire,  Morsrisquieu 


THE   RABBIS   DAUGHTER.  153 

and  Diderot  as  yet  in  existence.  The  Israelites  alone 
possessed  a  pure,  lioly  law,  a  universal  science,  which  had, 
centuries  before,  attained  perfection.  They  were,  how- 
ever, shut  up  in  close  Ghettos,  where  the  high  walls  sur- 
rounding prevented  the  rays  of  the  sun  from  penetrating 
their  gloomy  habitations,  and  laying  bare  to  the  world 
outside  the  knowledge  and  civilization  that  were  there 
confined. 

How  then  it  must  have  surprised  Prince  Paul  to  have 
heard,  for  the  first  time,  and  from  the  mouth  of  a  sup- 
posed titled  lady,  such  lofty  and  humanitarian  ideas  upon 
the  rights  and  privileges  of  mankind ;  to  be  told  that 
man  was  created  in  the  image  of  his  Maker,  that  there- 
fore all  men  are  brethren,  and  all  have  a  share  in  this 
beautiful  world  ;  that  one  law  is  for  all,  the  stranger  as 
well  as  the  citizen  ;  one  Father  created  us — we  are  all 
His  children — all  civil  distinctions  arbitrary,  but  the  law 
of  universal  hberty  divine  and  eternal ! 

Prince  Paul  thought  very  differently,  and  so  he  argued 
with  his  fair  adversary.  Even  if  originally  all  men  were 
equal,  yet  he  supposed  that  ages  had  raised  insurmount- 
able barriers.  The  cominon  people  have  deteriorated — 
the  nobihty  have  prospered.  In  fact,  peasants  are  but 
little  better  than  brute  animals.  The  world  is  created  for 
the  nobility  simply.  The  peasant  was  as  much  his  prop- 
erty as  his  dog  or  horse,  and  whatever  he  acquired  was 
his  master's.  The  Jews,  for  instance,  were  allowed  to 
amass  property  ;  but  for  this  purpose — that  they  might, 
on  some  day,  transfer  their  wealth  to  their  rulers. 

Esther  perceived,  by  these  discussions,  what  motives 
had  induced  a  prince,  just  and  brave  in  other  respects, 
to  treat  his  Jewish  subjects  in  so  harsh  and  barbarous  a 
way.  She  endeavored  to  uproot  these  false  ideas,  judging 
chat,  if  the  prince  could  be  induced  to  think  differently  on 
such  subjects,  he  would  not  carry  his  cruel  orders  into 
operation. 

"  Prince,"  said  she,  in  a  calm  voice,  "I  admit  that  noble, 
Jew  and  peasant  are  widely  distinct  from  each  other  ; 
but  this  diherence  does  not  lie  in  our  natures,  but  in  our 
faulty  education.  History  teaches  us  that  often  men  of 
the  humblest  position  have  raised  themselves  to  the 
highest  point  in  fame." 


154  THE  BABBl's  DAUGHTER. 

"Yes,  there  are  exceptions  to  every  rule/*  answered 
Paul  "  So  with  Jews,  who,  I  consider,  are  stiU  lower 
than  the  peasants,  inasmuch  as  they  are  not  yet  blessed 
with  the  fight  of  Christianity." 

"But  instead  of  that,"  Esther  quickly  rejoined,  "they 
have  the  brilhant  Hght  of  Judaism  to  shed  a  refulgence 
upon  their  path." 

"  Why,  my  beautiful  princess  has  not  studied  Judaism 
also  ?"  smilingly  asked  Paul. 

"  Indeed  I  have  !  Living  in  and  around  Prince  Jab- 
lonska's  estate  are  many  Jews  with  whom  I  am  famihar. 
And  should  not  this  ancient  people,  which  has  preserved 
the  oldest  and  noblest  tniths  for  mankind,  excite  our 
deepest  interest  ?" 

"  But  do  you  consider,"  again  asked  Paul,  "  that  the 
Jews  can  adopt  the  customs  of  the  world,  can  become 
nobles  in  manners,  as  well  as  by  purchase  or  birth — that 
a  Jewess  can  converse  and  act  with  such  elegance  as  you 
do,  my  dear  princess  ?" 

A  crimson  glow  spread  over  Esther's  face,  but  before 
the  prince  had  time  to  notice  her  growing  embarrassment, 
Mary  came  to  her  assistance,  and  answered  the  prince's 
question  by  asking  him  : 

"  Why,  have  I  not  told  you,  Paul,  of  Esther,  my  early 
companion,  who  saved  my  life,  and  was  the  favorite,  for 
years,  at  my  father's  court  ?" 

"  You  mean  the  young  Jewess  who  saved  you  from  the 
serpent,  and  who  perished  at  the  time  of  the  burning  of 
the  palace?" 

"  We  were  happily  in  error  about  her  death,"  answered 
Mary.  "She  did  not  die,  but  she  ran  away  from  the 
turning  palace,  disdaining  to  become  wealthy  and  pow- 
ii-ful  at  the  cost  of  her  honor  and  her  ancient  faith  !" 

But  the  prince,  with  his  odd  notions  about  the  heroic 

n  Judaism,  said  :  "  Bah !  shall  I  tell  you  why  this  Jewish 

;hild  ran  off  from  the  palace  ?    It  was  because  her  Ju- 

laism  clung  to  her  in  all  its  low  associations.    She  could 

lot  rid   herself  of  its  awkward  customs,  its  dialect,  its 

Dropensities.     She  longed  to  return  to  '  old  clothes.'    So 

it  has  been  with  the  Jews  in  olden  times  ;  so  it  will  be 

with  them  always.     NobiHty  and  pohtical  influence  have 

QO  attractions  for  them." 


THE   EABBIS   DAUGHTEE.  155 

Esther  fairly  glowed  witli  shame.  A  hot  retort  was  jnst 
breaking  from  her  lips,  when  Mary  asked  her  husband  : 

"But,  dear  Paul,  if  this  Jewess,  who  had  Hved  six 
years  in  a  palace,  and  as  many  out  of  it,  during  which 
time  she  had  married  a  Jew,  and  had  borne  two  children, 
should  now  be  introduced  to  you  as  a  fashionable  lady 
of  the  court,  who  merely  needed  a  court  costume  to  as- 
sume the  privileges  she  formerly  enjoyed — " 

"Then,"  answered  Paul,  slowly  and  distinctly,  his  fair 
auditors  being  pecuharly  excited  as  to  his  reply — "then 
I  would  avow  myself  conquered,  condemn  my  ideas  as 
faulty,  and  myself  as  prejudiced,  and  I  would  at  once 
adopt  the  opinions  of  our  esteemed  Princess  Jablonska." 

Esther  felt  her  triumph  approaching,  but  Mary  had  not 
yet  completed  her  part  of  the  work,  so  she  said  to  her 
husband : 

"  My  dear  Paul,  you  must  pardon  a  deception  I  have 
been  practicing  upon  you,  with  the  best  of  pm-poses. 
But,  before  I  explain,  let  me  relate  to  you  a  little  rab- 
binical story,  which  I  heard  years  ago,  from  my  friend 
Esther  : 

"  *  There  was  once  a  nobleman  who,  before  setting  out 
on  a  Httle  tour,  desired  to  make  his  wife  a  suitable  pres- 
ent. He  bought  her  a  diamond  of  brilliant  lustre,  but 
plainly  set,  and  told  his  steward  to  present  it  in  his  name 
to  his  mistress.  Thought  this  clever  steward,  *My  lady 
will  not  value  this  present,  as  it  now  appears.  Let  me 
give  it  a  setting  worthy  of  its  beauty,  and  then  I  will 
make  a  gift  worthy  of  my  master !'  So  he  did,  and  the 
lady,  on  receiving  the  jewel,  was  struck  with  its  exceed- 
ing briUiancy.  The  nobleman  returning,  and  the  steward 
not  caring  to  expose  his  httle  fraud  to  his  master's  eye, 
he  one  day  removed  the  rich  setting,  and  restored  the 
diamond  to  its  original  condition.  But  his  mistress  ad- 
mired it  the  more  when  she  perceived  its  undying  lustre, 
which  shone  as  magnificently  as  before,  and  she  thanked 
her  husband  for  his  precious  gift.' 

'•My  dear  husband,  I  was  the  happy  possessor  of  such 
a  diamond,  with  which  I  intended  to  dehght  you  ;  but, 
that  you  might  value  it  the  more,  I  preferred  to  giVe  it  a 
handsome  ornamentation." 


156  THE  rabbi's  daughter. 

"  I  hardly  understand  you,  Mary,"  said  the  bewildered 
Paul. 

"  WeU,  my  ]3iince,  I  will  at  last  repeat  to  you  in  plain 
language — I  have,  thank  God,  found  my  dear  friend  Es- 
ther, and  I  wished  to  introduce  her  to  you  in  a  way  which 
became  her  position  as  a  bosom  friend  of  your  wife  ;  but 
as  you  would  not  have  considered  a  Jewess  worthy  of 
seeing  or  speaking  with,  I  have  presented  her  to  you  as 
the  *  Princess  Jablonska!'" 

The  prince  looked  at  Esther  with  an  incredulous  air. 
She  merely  bowed  respectfully. 

"Now  that  you  have  learned,"  added  Mary,  "  to  esteem 
my  jewel  in  an  elegant  setting — in  rich  costume  and  titled 
as  a  powerful  piincess — you  will,  I  am  convinced,  value 
it  in  its  lowly  dress,  as  a  plain  Pohsh  Jewess !" 

Naturally  this  revelation  startled  the  prince  somewhat. 
He  was  silent  for  a  few  moments.  At  length  he  said,  in 
a  firm  tone  : 

"  You  have  conquered  me,  and  I  am  compelled  to  ab- 
jure my  prejudiced  ideas  and  adopt  the  more  Hberal  no- 
tions of  our  friend,  who  is  none  the  less  clever,  amiable 
and  beautiful,  even  if  she  is  no  longer  a  princess  in  real- 
ity. Yet  there  is  a  nobihty  which  is  far  above  earthly 
titles,  and  which  we  possess  directly  from  God — the  no- 
bihty of  a  genuine,  fraternal  feeling,  of  love  for  the  good 
and  the  true,  wherever  to  be  found.  Again  I  bid  you 
welcome ! "  said  Paul,  turning  to  the  blushing  Esther  ; 
"and  I  greet  you  as  a  friend  and  as  the  savior  of  my  dear 
wife." 

The  prince  now  expected  Esther  to  present  a  petition 
in  beh^f  of  the  Wilna  Jews,  but  she  prudently  refrained 
fi'om  alluding  to  the  subject ;  a  course  of  action,  on  her 
part,  which  raised  her  still  more  in  the  prince's  regard. 
Esther  and  Mary  conversed  together  in  low  tones,  while 
the  px'ince  sat  apart,  apparently  busy  with  his  own 
thoughts.  He  felt  his  position  to  be  a  trying  one.  He 
wished  to  say  something  about  his  trouble  with  the  Wilna 
Jews,  but  he  did  not  know  in  vvhat  way  he  could  best  m- 
troduce  the  subject. 

After  a  brief  silence,  he  said  aloud  :  "  The  thought  just 
strikes  me,  Mary,  that  our  fi'iend  has  not  yet  been  re- 
warded for  saving  your  precious  Hfe.    Your  royal  parents 


THE   KABBI'S   DAUGHTER.  157 

have  been  Tinable  even  to  thank  her  on  account  of  her 
sudden  departure  from  their  protection.  Let  it  be  for  us 
then  to  be  grateful.  I  think,  my  dear  wife,  a  hundred 
thousand  ducats  is  not  too  high  a  price  for  the  hie  of  a 
princess,  especially  of  a  Princess  Radzivil.  So,  dear  Es- 
ther, I  take  the  greatest  pleasure  in  presenting  to  you 
the  sum  of  money  which  the  Jews  of  Wilna  are  to  furnish 
me  with  next  week.  The  money  is  yours,  and  you  can 
do  with  it  as  you  wish." 

Esther  could  not  speak.  Her  mission  having  so  glori- 
ously and  unexpectedly  terminated,  she  felt  overcome 
wfth  emotion.  Her  eyes  filled  with  tears ;  she  fell  on  her 
knees  and  gratefully  kissed  the  extended  hands  of  Prince 
Paul  and  Mary.  And  gentle  and  loving  Princess  Mary 
embraced  her  husband  fondly,  saying,  as  she  kissed  him: 
"  O,  my  husband,  you  have  made  me  the  happiest  of 
women ! " 


The  following  day,  the  principal  Jews  of  Wilna,  inclu- 
ding the  Rabbis,  were  assembled  at  Rabbi  Menachem's 
house,  in  accordance  with  an  invitation  received  from  the 
Rabbi,  who  had  stated  to  them  that,  as  the  time  for  pay- 
ing the  amount  was  so  near,  it  was  necessary  that  they 
should  discuss  the  matter  in  a  calm,  rational  way.  The 
guests  had  hardly  seated  themselves  when  a  carriage 
stopped  at  the  door,  and  the  prince,  princess  and  Esther, 
dressed  now  in  her  Jewish  garb,  entered  the  room,  the 
Jews  all  bowing  low  to  the  ground,  as  was  their  custom 
when  in  the  presence  of  their  rulers. 

"I  have  requested  my  friend,  Rabbi  Menachem,"  began 
the  prince,  "to  summon  you  here,  in  order  that  I  might 
ask  you  whether  you  have  taken  any  steps  towards  liqui- 
dating the  amount  which  I  consider  is  due  me  from  the 
Jewish  community?" 

"  Your  highness,"  said  the  chief  Rabbi,  in  a  respectful 
tone,  "we  are  truly  unable  to  collect  that  amount,  without 
being  aU  reduced  to  a  condition  of  absolute  beggary." 

"But  to  whom  does  your  wealth  belong?"  sternly 
asked  Paul ;  "  to  whom,  other  than  your  prince,  your 
ruler?" 

"We  know  that,  your  highness.  We  are  indeed  in 
14 


158  THE  rabbi's  daughteb. 

your  power,  but  we  trust  to  your  clemency  and  mercy  for 
relief.  Kemit  half  the  amount,  and  we  solemnly  promise 
to  pay  the  other  hal^  although  even  that  will  be  a  great 
sacrifice." 

"I  will  not  reduce  the  amount  by  a  single  farthing! 
By  next  week,  unless  you  wish  to  be  driven  from  the 
country,  you  must  dehver  the  full  amount  of  one  hundred 
thousand  ducats  to  Menachem's  wife.  To  her  I  present 
the  money,  because  she  was  the  savior,  and  is  the  dear 
friend  and  companion  of  your  princess." 

"  And  my  wife,"  said  Menachem,  "  accepts  the  gift,  but 
on  this  condition,  your  highness,  that  she  may  in  turn 
present  it  to  the  Jewish  community  of  WiLna,  for  having 
redeemed  her  when  she  was  held  a  captive  in  the  robber's 
cave." 

Menachem  spoke  thus  intentionally,  for  he  well  remem- 
bered how  strenuously  the  chief  Ra.bbi,  and  others  of  the 
delegation  now  present,  were  opposed  to  offering  any 
assistance  to  the  captive  girl  years  before.  The  prince, 
however,  did  not  notice  the  momentary  confusion  into 
which  Menachem's  words  had  betrayed  the  assembly; 
but  he,  of  course,  assented  to  the  condition,  saying,  *'The 
money  is  Esther's,  and  she  can  do  with  it  as  she  pleases." 

And  with  hearts  far  more  joyous  than  an  hour  before, 
the  company  withdrew  to  their  homes  to  tell  aU  Wilna 
the  wondrous  tale. 

Esther  thus  become  the  most  famous  woman  in  Poland. 
Her  romantic  and  eventful  career  was  the  all-absorbing 
theme  in  every  household.  Parents  extolled  her  virtues 
and  constancy  to  her  faith  before  their  children  ;  prayers 
were  offered  for  her  hfe-long  happiness  in  all  the  syna- 
gogues ;  she  rapidly  became  added  to  the  long  Hst  of  Is- 
rael's heroines,  and  the  Polish  ladies  of  the  day  envied 
her  fame,  although  aU  argued  that  she  bore  her  honors 
with  that  same  grace  and  modesty  which  had  character- 
ized her  early  hfe. 

And  Menachem  grew  into  great  favor  with  the  couri 
Prince  Eadzivil  conSded  in  his  hands  the  administration 
of  his  vast  estate.  He  and  his  wile  were  very  intimate  in 
theii'  relations  "vsdth  the  prince  and  his  amiable  partner, 
and  Paul  acquu-ed  the  most  hb6ral  ideas  in  regard  to 
Judaism  and  the  Jews.     Under  his  rule  Wilna  prospered. 


THE  rabbi's  daughter.  169 

and  the  Israelites  in  that  old  town  became  widely  re- 
spected as  an  influential,  benevolent  and  pious  com- 
munity. 


Meanwhile  our  Rabbi  Sabbathai  was  prospering  in  his 
way  at  Hollischau.  Intent  with  his  duties  as  pastor  of 
a  growing  community,  he  heard  little  concerning  the  stir- 
ring doings  in  Lithuania.  He  studied  the  law  and  sacred 
writings  unceasingly,  becoming  soon  known,  although 
hardly  fifty  years  of  age,  as  the  "teacher  of  all  Israel.** 
He  composed  commentaries  and  religious  treatises  that 
have  given  him  undying  renown.  Under  the  title  of 
Schach,  his  compositions  were  made  the  subject  of  close 
study  by  many  a  theological  scholar. 

All  over  Poland,  the  name  of  the  Schach  was  uttered 
with  reverence.  Invitations  crowded  in  upon  him  from 
all  sides,  to  visit  different  cities,  and  there  expound  the 
law  in  his  own  learned  way.  One  day  a  note  reached 
him  from  Wilna,  and  it  was  couched  in  such  glowing 
terms  that  he  felt  disinclined  to  refuse  the  congregation- 
al intitation,  in  the  style  in  which  he  had  dechned  other 
requests.  Besides  "Wilna  had  hallowed  associations  for 
him,  as  being  his  birth-place,  the  home  of  his  first  mar- 
riage, and  his  brief  wedded  life.  He  accepted  the  call. 
Great  preparations  were  made  among  the  Jews  to  give 
the  Schach  a  befitting  reception.  Rabbi  Menachem,  as 
being  the  most  prominent  Israehte  in  town,  was  selected 
to  be  his  host  during  his  stay,  and  heartily  glad  was  the 
worthy  Menachem  to  entertain  so  distinguished  a  visitor. 

Rabbi  Sabbathai  arrived,  and  was  at  once  conducted 
to  Menachem's  house,  where  a  large  attendance  was  gath- 
ered in  his  honor.  Mutual  greetings  were  exchanged, 
Menachem  introduced  Sabbathai  to  his  guests,  who  were 
soon  on  the  best  of  terms  with  their  visitor  ;  for  Rabbi 
Sabbathai  was  not  only  a  profound  scholar,  but  a  bril- 
Hant  conversationalist. 

And  where  was  Esther  ?  She  of  course  had  heard  of 
the  expected  visit  of  the  Schach,  had  prepared  for  his 
coming,  and  seemed  well  pleased  with  the  honor  of  en- 
tertaining so  learned  a  visitor.     But  she  had  no  idea  that 


160  THE  rabbi's  daughter. 

he  would  have  raised  such  sorrowful  thoughts  within  her, 
as  she  experienced  when  she  beheld  him  enter  the  room. 
InstiQctively  her  memory  reverted  years  back,  to  the  time 
vhen  she  beheld  her  father  standing  a  silent  mourner  by 
]jer  dead  mother's  bedside.  There  seemed  to  her  to  be  a 
strange  resemblance  to  her  lost  father  in  the  person  of 
the  dignified  Il?bbi.  What  if  he  should  be — but  she  could 
no  longer  remain  near  him  and  play  the  hostess,  with 
such  thoughts  crowding  upon  her  ;  so  she  left  the  room, 
unobserved,  before  Menachem  was  able  to  inti'oduce  his 
guest  to  her,  went  to  her  own  apartment,  and  there,  unseen 
by  all  but  the  pitying  One  above,  gave  vent  to  tears  such  as 
had  never,  since  her  marriage,  bedewed  her  cheek.  She 
could  not  ixdngle  with  the  gay  assembly  below.  She 
seemed  transported  to  another  age  and  was  a  child  again, 
weeping  for  her  dead  mother,  and  the  beloved  father 
from  whom  she  had  been  so  early  separated. 

In  the  parlor  there  was  great  hilarity.  Toasts  had 
been  drunk  in  honor  of  Eabbi  Sabbathai,  the  dignitariies 
of  the  town,  the  ladies,  and  finally  one  of  the  assembly 
proposed  a  toast  in  honor  of  their  guest,  Menachem,  the 
"  king's  son-in-law !  " 

The  toast  was  responded  to  with  enthusiasm.  Mena- 
chem was  a  x^opular  man  in  Wilna,  especially  siQce  the 
Israelites  had  conferred  upon  him  this  title. 

Said  Sabbathai,  "  The  '  king's  son-in-law  ?  '  How  is 
that  ?  AMiy  have  you,  my  dear  sir,  acquired  so  strange 
and  honorable  a  title  ?  " 

"  Why,  have  you  not  heard,  Rabbi,  the  wondrous  story 
which  we  supposed  Avas  known  to  every  one  in  Poland  ?  " 
said  the  "Wihia  Rabbi.  "  Have  you  not  heard  of  the  al- 
most miraculous  manner  in  which  we,  here  in  Wihia, 
vrere  rescued  fi'om  paying  that  enoimous  tribute  to  Prince 
Radzivil,  which  would  have  made  us  all  beggars  ?  " 

Then,  in  a  few  concise  sentences,  he  infoiTaed  Sabba- 
thai of  their  trouble,  and  the  timely  assistance  rendered 
by  the  lovely  wife  of  Menachem. 

"  And  how  could  she  be  so  influential  ?  " 

"  YvTiy,  Rabbi,  you  are  indeed  behind  the  times,  if  you 
are  not  yet  acquainted  with  the  story  of  Esther,  the  king's 
adopted  daughter,  who  was  brought  up  in  a  palace,  sur- 
rounded by  zealous  Christians,  but  remained  ever  true  to 


THE   rabbi's   DAUGHTEE.  161 

her  faith.  She  saved  us — she,  the  wife  of  our  beloved 
Menachem ! " 

Sabbathai  heard  these  words  with  a  strange  interest. 
Surely  he  had  heard  that  story  before. 

"  But,"  he  asked,  with  a  trembling  voice,  "  that  Esther 
perished  in  the  flames  of  the  burning  palace  ?  " 

"  No,  thank  God !  She  escaped  ;  but  was  captured  by 
Eatislaw's  robbers,  from  whom  our  Menachem  ransomed, 
her  years  ago." 

Sabbathai  would  hear  no  more.  He  raised  his  hands 
aloft,  tears  poured  forth  from  his  eyes,  and,  in  a  loud 
voice  which  startled  the  assembly  by  its  strange  eloquence, 
and  was  heard  all  over  the  house,  he  cried  : 

"  Gracious  God !  You  have  heard  my  prayer  !  My 
daughter,  my  Esther,  you  are  found  ! " 

And  in  an  instant  Esther  was  clasped  in  his  arms. 

Father  and  daughter  were  at  last  united ! 


Thus  ends  my  story.  The  subsequent  historj  of  Esth- 
er and  her  friends  may  be  ^old  in  a  few  words.  Sabba- 
thai returned  to  HoUischau,  unwilling  now  to  desert  a 
town  which  had  sheltered  him  when  he  was  in  need  of 
comfort.  He  continued  in  his  good  work,  instructing 
young  Israelites  in  the  doctrines  of  their  faith,  and  sending 
forth  on  the  field  of  life  many  a  faithful  shepherd  to  guide 
God's  stray  sheep  into  a  pleasant  pasture.  He  did  not 
forget  Ratislaw,  his  old  friend  ;  for,  some  time  after  his 
reunion  with  Esther,  he  learned,  with  regret,  that  the 
bold  robber  had  been  captured  and  sentenced  to  death. 
He  at  once  visited  him  in  prison,  spoke  to  him  words  of 
consolation,  and  promised  to  use  his  influence  with  the 
king  to  pardon  him,  on  condition  that  he  would  mend 
his  ways  and  lead  a  respectable  hfe.  Sabbathai  and 
Esther  had  an  interview  with  the  king  and  prince  Paul, 
with  such  good  effect,  that  the  following  morning  he 
again  visited  the  prisoner,  handed  him  his  pardon,  and 
with  it  a  commission  in  the  royal  army.  Katislaw  con- 
ducted himself  very  creditably,  rose  in  the  service,  and 
died  gallantly  fighting  at  Dniester,  where  the  heroic 
Pole,  John  Sobieski,  batrled  victoriously  with  the  Turks. 


1C2  THE   EABBl's   DAUGHTER. 

Esther  and  Menachem  were  frequent  and  welcome  vis- 
itors at  the  palace  of  the  king  and  prince.  Mary's  love 
for  our  heroine  continued  until  the  death  of  the  princess 
severed  the  life-long  tie.  Esther  and  Menachem  Hved  to 
a  good  old  age  ;  they  never  wearied  of  performing  good 
deeds,  and  the  blessings  and  prayers  of  grateful  thou- 
sands attended  their  declining  years.  Descendants  of 
the  famous  Schach  are  to  be  found  in  almost  all  lands, 
who  still  retain,  intact,  the  early  traditions  of  their  family, 
and  who,  with  never-faihng  memory,  transmit  to  their 
children  the  thrilling  story  of  "  The  Rabbi's  Daughter  1 " 


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